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Photographic 

Sciences 
Corporation 


23  WEST  MAIN  STREET 

WEBaTER.N.Y.  14580 

(716)  872-4503 


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Microfiche 


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CoJIaction  de 
microfiches. 


Canadian  Institute  for  Historical  Microreproductions  /  institut  canadien  de  microreproductions  hittoriques 


''^''''^-^'^•^'S'^X!^'ii^~^-n^'^*iiii^^ 


Technical  and  Bibliographic  Notes/Notes  techniques  et  bibliographiques 


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10X  14X  18X  22X 


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SOX 


J\ 


24X 


28X 


32X 


:ails 
du 

jdifier 
une 
nage 


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cas:  le  symbole  — ►  signifie  "A  SUIVHE  ",  le 
symbole  V  signifie  "FIN". 


rrata 
o 


jelure, 


32X 


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method: 


1 

2 

3 

Les  cartes,  planches,  t  jleaux,  etc.,  peuvent  dtre 
filmds  A  des  taux  de  reduction  diff6rents. 
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et  de  haut  en  bas,  en  prenant  le  nombre 
d'images  nAcessaire.  Les  diagrammes  suivants 
lllustrent  la  mdthode. 


1 

2 

3 

4 

5 

6 

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■nto««l  «x!ordlng  to  Act  of  Congre.,,  |„  th«  jew  1864,  by 

OiORoi  H.  Calvf.bt, 

iu  the  Cterk-.  Offlc*  of  tbe  Diatrict  Court  for  th.  DUtrict  of  Rhode  UUnd 


»TI«OTrPID   AXl.   PKLVTiD    Br  B.   0.   HODSBTOII. 


PERSONS    REPRESENTED. 


ind 


■i- 


AMERICAN. 

Geokor  WASHinaTON,  Commander-in-Chitf. 

Mtijor-General  Ahnold. 

Urs.  Aknolo,  hit  Wife. 

Ciilmrt  Hamilton,  AUe-de-Camp  to  (lenr.rnl  WAHHiMOTtiH. 

Mnjnr  McHk»ry,  Aide-<le- Camp  lo  Lakayettk. 

tfijor  Varick,  Aide-de-Camp  lo  Aknold. 

JoHiiuA  Smith, /it'enrf  (/ Aksold. 

I'auldino,    1 

Wii.i.iAMH,  /  C<ij>tort  of  Axdk£. 

Van  Wart,  ) 

Strgtanl  BuiOOS.  : '■ 

Fl.KMINO. 

Vanbeku. 

Old  Man. 

Hit  Grandson, 

farmeri,  Ciiizeni,  Atlendanlt. 

Majof-Gtneral  Ghkknk,  Preiident,         \  '; 

Major- General,  Makhuis  Lafayettk,  /  Memhert  of  Ike  Qmrt  of 

Major- General,  Bakon  Steubkn,  i      Jiujuiry. 

Central  Kmux,  and  ten  utkert,  } 

BRITISH. 

Sir  Henry  Clinton,  Comnnnder-in-Chiff. 

Golimel  Bkvekly  Kobinson,  an  American  Tory. 

Major  ANUKli. 

Captain  Svthkkland,  Captain  of  the  tloop-of-aar  *'  KuAitre." 

Old  Sritiih  Officer. 

Scene:   Up  the  Uudton  River,  except  the  id  Scene  of  Act  T.,  which 

it  in  ATfiD  York. 
Time:  FroM  Seidember  ISth  to  30th,  1780. 


W^^ 


^ 


: 


PREFACE. 


An   historical   drama   being   the   incarnation 

through  the  most  compact  and  brilliant  literary 
form  —  of  the  spirit  of  a  national  epoch,  the 
dramatic  author,  in  adopting  liistoric  personages 
and  events,  is  bound  to  subordinate  himself  with 
conscientious  fiiithfulness  to  the  actuality  he  at- 
tempts to  reproduce.  His  task  is,  by  help  of 
imaginative  power,  to  give  to  important  conjunc- 
tures, and  to  the  individuals  that  rule  them,  a 
more  vivid  embodiment  than  can  be  given  on 
the  literal  page  of  history,  —  not  to  transform, 
but  to  elevate  and  animate  an  enacted  reality, 
and,  by  injecting  it  with  poetic  rays,  to  make  it 
throw  out  from  itself  a  light  whereby  its  features 
shall  be  more  clearly  visible. 

Historic  subjects  have  necessarily  an  epic  bias, 


■mi ■iiiiidg 


1 


vin 


PRE  FA  CE. 


ovunta  sweeping  men  ulong  in  tlieir  enrrent,  in- 
steail  of  the  current  being  nmcli  determined  hy 
tho  personalities  of  men.  Hence  Sluiksjieure's 
most  (Iramutic  tragedies,  Macbeth  and  Lear  and 
Hamlet,  are  drawn  from  the  prehistoric  period, 
where  the  (KKitic  as  well  as  tho  dramatic  genius 
has  freer  8co^k>  ;  while  those  t.-om  English  and 
Ancient  history  are  enjoyed  fi^"*  their  clean  char-* 
acterization  and  luminous  historic  picture-painting, 
and  for  —  what  is  common  to  all  his  work  — 
great  thoughts  buoyed  on  a  sea  of  beauty,  more 
than  for  the  prolific  interplay  of  feelings  and  the 
deep  entanglements  of  pission  —  inextricable  but 
by  death  —  and  tho  breadth  of  seemingly  free 
movement,  which  make  the  tragedies  wrought  by 
Shakspeare  out  of  legend  a  glowing  epitome  of 
the  fallible  and  pathetic  in  human  nature,  a 
poetic  abstract  of  the  tragic  liabilities  of  man. 
The  Epic  may  be  likened  to  a  broad,  swollen, 
majestic,  irresistible  river :  the  Dramatic  to  the 
pent-up  waters  of  a  rock-bound  lake  lashed  by  a 
tempest. 


.^ 


mmm 


ifi  ■  ii 


P  HE  FACE. 


Is 


iiur-  • 


But    the    Dramatic,   gathering    up   the    varied 
and    separate    impulses    of    liumanity    into    con- 
densed organic  wholes,  combines  into  itselt   both 
the   other  classes   of  poetic    utterance,   perfusing 
its   tissue  with   lyric   as  well   as  with   epic  juice. 
As  Shakspeare's  historic  plays  are   largely  tinted 
with   epic  color,  others   so   sparklo  with   fantastic 
wilfulness  that  they  may  almost  be  styled  lyrical 
dramas ;   foremost  among  wiiich   are  Midmmmer 
Nighfs  Dream  and  the  Tempest,  wherein,  through 
scenes    and    dialogue    still    thoroughly    dramatic, 
Shakspearo   has   more  compl';^jly  than   elsewheie 
given  vent  to  his  poetic  and»  I  may  venture  to 
say,    his   personal    individuality,   saturating   them 
with  the  inmost  fragrance  of  his  beautiful  nature, 
and  making  them   buoyant  with    *ho  fullest  play 
o»"  a  divine  cheerfulness. 

To  get  a  view  of  the  level  little  enclosure  of 
the  three  acts  that  are  to  follow,  it  is  not  at 
all  necessary  to  ascend  to  these  Shakspearian 
heights,  up  to  which  one  is  ever  tempted  by  the 
fruit  that  grows  on  them,  —  a  golden  crop,  inex- 


mmmmmm>'9*'mmimffK?^i9^f^m** 


.:•,«' vij-i-.^ 


X  PREFACE. 

haustiblu  in  its  beautj'  and  healthful  succulence. 
We  como  down  from  them  to  sav,  that  the 
momentous  consequences  involved  in  success  or 
failure,  the  exciting  and  special  nature  of  the 
incidents  and  accompaniments,  the  individualities 
of  the  two  chief  agents,  with  the  figure  and 
chiii-acter  of  Washington  looming  in  the  back- 
ground almost  like  a  controlling  destiny,  give  to 
the  treason  of  Arnold  rare  capabilities  as  an 
aisthetic  subject ;  and  '  the  necessary  'ocking 
of  the  plot  within  a  few  breasts,  and  the  separa- 
tion of  the  principal  agc-nts  except  for  one  inter- 
view, prevent  there  being  much  of  that  action 
and  reaction  between  the  personages  which  is 
needed  for  the  deepest  d-amatic  involution,  this 
is  largely  compensated  for  by  tiie  contrast  be- 
tween the  natures  of  Arnold  and  Andrd,  and  by 
the  direct  effect  which  their  personal  qualities  and 
temperaments  had  on  the  original  conception  of 
the  treason  and  on  its  issue. 

Although,  from    the    confined   circle    in    which 
Bach  a  treason  necessarily  moved,  it  be  not  as  a 


M 


IMH 


PREFACE.  si 

subject  for  dramatic  treatment  the  richest  and 
broadest,  it  is  nevertheless  well  fitted  for  such 
treatment,  inasmuch  as  not  only  its  inception  and 
progress,  but  also  its  defeat,  were  so  directly  the 
result  of  the  especial  character  of  the  several 
persons  engaged.  The  epic  flow  pauses  for  a 
moment  while  human  passions  enact  this  episode. 
In  the  rising  stream  of  our  history  an  eddy  was 
made  to  which  a  high  military  trust  enabled  a 
Major-General  to  give  so  wide  a  sweep  that  the 
success  of  his  plot  would  have  caused  the  current 
disastrously  to  overflow,  if  not  to  change  entirely 
its  channel. 

The  aim  of  the  dramatist  being  to  reproduce 
in  poetic  form  a  chapter  or  section  of  National 
Annals,  and  fidelity  therefor  to  the  spirit  of  the 
period  selected  being  a  primary  condition  to  the 
attainment  of  his  aim,  it  follows  that  truth  of 
characteiization  becomes  a  demand  which  he 
must  satisfy,  or  fail  in  his  undertaking ;  for  the 
events,  owing  their  import,  and  it  may  be  their 
very  existence,  to  the  individualities  of  the  chief 


'i 


*►• 


xii  PREFACE. 

historic  agents,  the  more  faithfully  these  are  re- 
produced the  more  truly  will  the  historic  spirit 
be  preserved,  it  being  the  peculiar  quality  of 
epochs  fitted  for  dramatic  treatment,  that  their 
spirit  is  a  distillation,  so  to  speak,  out  of  that  of 
the  influential  agents,  in  a  measure  the  creators, 
of  the  epoch.  By  tinith  of  characterization  is 
meant  historic  truth,  which  is  not  only  no  bar 
to  poetic  truth,  but  makes  for  it  a  solid  elastic 
basis,  history  and  poetry  enlivening  and  elevating 
one  the  other.  Poetry  being  the  finest  truth, 
the  essence  indeed  of  truth,  nourishes  itself  ro- 
bustly and  palatably  on  the  true,  pines  if  fed  on 
the  false,  and  has  within  itself  such  all-sufficient 
resources,  that  whatever  is  required  fbr  its  own 
corporeal  manifestation  it  can  freshly  generate,  if 
need  be,  by  imaginative  energy.  Wherefore,  to 
falsify  liistory  in  order  to  compass  dramatic  ends, 
were  in  the  author  self-conviction  of  incompe- 
tency ;  and  whenever  such  falsification  has  been 
resorte*!  to,  it  will  be  found  that  there  is  weak- 
ness in  the  »pirit,  as  well  as  in  the  body,  of  the 
product. 


to 


But  to  compass  his  ends,  the  dramatist  may 
"feign  according  to  nature,"  not  only  in  the  dia- 
logue and  monologue  of  the  historic  figures,  but 
also  by  intermingling  with  them  others,  the  breath 
of  whose  life  is  the  concentrated  spirit  of  the 
epoch  represented.  Such  inventions  are  not  jus- 
tifiable merely,  as  being  in  keeping  with  the  his- 
toric picture :  they  are  demanded  for  the  very 
purpose  of  giving  to  historic  fact  more  palpable 
actuality.  They  are  not  mere  ornaments,  —  for 
as  such  they  would  be  vicious  weaknesses,  —  but 
are  servicaable  adjuncts,  v/hich,  by  not  only  har- 
monizing with  the  known  personages,  but  by 
giving  higher  relief  to  them  and  their  deeds, 
heighten  and  enlarge  the  dramatic  eflPect.  Being 
secondary,  they  are  like  the  flying  buttresses  of 
a  cathedral,  which,  although  subordinate,  give  to 
the  edifice  strength,  as  well  as  grace  and  expan- 
sion. This  dramatic  privilege  I  have  used,  espe- 
cially in  the  first  and  second  Scenes,  seeking  by 
means  of  it  to  bring  more  clearly  to  view  the 
public   and    military   opinion    and    feeling  of   the 


XIV 


PREFACE. 


li 


time,  and  by  thus  exhibiting  the  medium  in 
whicli  the  transactions  occur,  and  by  which  they 
are  subtly  influenced,  to  impart  to  the  dramatic 
picture  more  fulness  and  vivacity. 

Whether  or  not  Mrs.  Arnold  knew  of  her  hus- 
band's design  was  for  some  time  uncertain.  I 
believe  that  the  final  judgment  upon  all  th«  evi- 
dence accessible  is,  that  she  did  not.  I  sliould 
in  every  case  have  eagerly  seized  upon  and  given 
her  the  benefit  of  any  doubt,  as  to  suppose  her 
ignorant  is  grateful  to  humane  and  generous  feel- 
ing, besides  making  her  dramatically  more  effec- 
tive. 

Washington  appears  in  the  first  and  last  Scenes, 
—  thus  infolding,  as  it  were,  the  whole  action  in 
his  vast  paternal  arms ;  but  he  is  seen  for  a  few 
moments  only,  and  at  the  bottom  of  the  stage, 
and  is  not  heard.  That  the  plot  failed  was  re- 
motely owing  to  him ;  for  when,  after  crossing  the 
river,  as  presented  in  the  opening  Scene,  Arnold 
at  Peekskill  showed  him  the  letter  just  received 
from    Beverly    Robinson,    seemingly    on    private 


«. 


ARNOLD    AND    ANDll^. 


^  ACT  I. 

,        ,  SCBNK  I. 

The   landing   at    Verplanck'i   Point   on   the    HudtoH 
River,  September  18th,  1780. 

£nUr,  on  one  tide,  Fleming,  hmt,  and  Vajiiikbo;  on  th» 
other,  Sergeant  Bhigos,  who  hot  lott  an  arm;  with  him  two 
farmert. 

FLEMING. 

Well  met,  Sergeant  Briggs.  We  are  here  on 
the  same  errand,  eh? 

DRIGOS.  *       ;• 

Aye,  cripples  that  we  are.  Hard,  is  it  not, 
to  be  lazy  lookers-on?  I'll  brook  it  no  longer, 
now  that  my  stump  is  healed.  There  's  no  snufF 
like  burnt  gunpowder:  it  puts  two  livea  into 
the  brain  of  a  man. 


ARNOLD  AND  ANDRli.  I  A-r  I. 

FARIIIK. 

And  takes  one  from  his  arms. 

BKIGUS. 

Aye,  neighbor,  that  was  rare  luck,  when  yo-i 
see  liow  close  the  head  is  to  the  shoulders.  I  've 
my  best  arm  left,  and  for  that  one  the  Com- 
mander-in-Chief must  find  something  to  do. 

It's  certain,  then,  that  he  crosses  the  ferry  uhia 
afternoon  ? 

BRIOQB. 


Certain  as  the  tide.  My  neighbor  here  was 
over  at  Stony  Point  two  hours  ago.  The  Chief 
is  on  his  way  to  Hartford,  to  confer  with  the 
French  Commander,  Count  Rochambeau,  lately 
arrived  at  Newport.  General  Arnold  has  just 
come  down  the  river  to  meet  him,  and  will 
bring  him  over  in  a  barge. 

FLEMINO. 

Hal  then  I  shall  have  another  look  at  General 
Arnold.  There 's  a  general  for  you,  if  ever 
there   was   one.     Could   you   have   seen   him   at 


'■ 


--^•■''mmifmmmmmt'^^ 


-r  1. 


yon 
I've 
/om- 


this 


ScwKl]  ARNOLD  AND  ANDRlg.     '  19 

Bchmus's  Heights!  Like  the  wiriH.  he  was  every- 
where at  once,  and  wherever  he  came,  ho  blew 
into  ns  his  own  heat.  That  was  a  time  when 
we  drove  the  Hessians  from  their  encampment 
The  General  and  I  fell  together  in  the  very 
mouth  of  the  sally-port,  wounded  in  the  same 
leg.  I  say  notliing  against  General  Washington, 
God  bless  h"m ;  but  this  I  do  say,  that  if  Arnold 
Vas  Commander-in-Chief  there  would  be  hotter 
worlTand  more  battles. 


1 


was 
lief 
the 
I  (fly 
just 
will 


leral 
3ver 
at 


Stick  to  your  colors,  Fleming :  that 's  right ; 
I  like  that.  But  the  fewer  battles  we  fig|it,  my 
friend,  the  better.  In  a  war  like  this,  to  know 
when  jiot  to  fight  is  the  best  generalship.  Our 
retreats  have  gained  us  more  than  our  victories. 
That  I  learned  in  the  Jersey  campaigns.  To  re- 
treat is  sometimes  better  even  than  to  beat :  it 
spares  ourselves  and  wears  the  enemy. 


VANBBBO. 


I  perceive,  sir,  that  you  are  an  apt  scholar  in 
the  school  of  Washington.  ■. 


20 


ARNOLD  AND   AXDRH. 


fACT  I. 


BRioat, 

And  pray,  sir,  in  what  school  did  you  learn 
the  art  of  war? 

VANBKKO. 

I  am  myself  no  soldier,  but  I  had  a  son  killed 
at  Saratoga,  and  have  another  in  garrison  at 
West  Point. 

nKKlGS. 

Your  pardon,  sir.  (^Touchiruj  his  hat.')  The 
father  of  such  sons  has  a  right  to  his  opinions. 

VANBERO. 

No  offence  ;  but  our  side  never  was  in  worse 
plight  than  now.  We  have  been  routed  in  the 
South,  whence  Sir  Henry  Clinton  has  just  come 
back  with  victorious  troops  to  reenforce  New 
York.  The  second  French  armament,  that  was 
to  have  been  out  ere  this,  is  blockaded  in  Brest. 
The  first  is  shut  up  in  Newport.  Washington 
is  too  weak  to  attack  New  York;  'tis  as  much 
as'he  can  do  to  hold  his  own  on  the  river.  If 
we  lose  West  Point,  we  make  our  last  retreat. 


N  J 


^i[aii4J>Jii'iffliis?ggiiiWft 


*\ 


8rw.Bl.l  A  It  SOLD   AND   ANDR£. 


SI 


Our  last  retreat  will  be  made  by  the  last  man 
left  of  us  into  a  bloody  grave.  But  tliat  will 
never  be.  We  '11  fight  them  back  to  the  Alle- 
ghany Mountains,  and  hold  them  there  at  bay 
till  our  sons  are  big  enough  to  fight  in  front  of 
us.  Oh  that  I  had  a  hundred  anns,  instead  of 
but  one ! 

EnUr  an  old  man  leilk   hii  grancUon,  fourtttn  ytart  of  agt^ 
and  tun  or  Ihrte  other  ciltMem. 

OLD  MAN,  to  Briggi. 

Can  you  tell  me,  sir,  is  it  true  that  General 
Washington  comes  across  the  ferry  this  afternoon  ? 

BRIOGB.  •  •  v 

He  sent  word  that  he  is  coming.  That's 
enough  :  he  '11  come,  —  unless  an  earthquake 
swallow  up  his  horse.  Him  it  will  not  swallow 
up ;  for  He  who  makes  earthquakes  guards  his 
life  as  the  most  precious  thing  on  earth  at  this 
hour. 

OLD  MAM. 

You  have  seen  him,  sir  ? 


I  ■*^^*«i^nr 


,M 


ARNOLD  AND  ANDR£. 


(All  I. 


BRIOGI. 


I 


!l'. 


A  hundred  times. 


^  OLD   MAH. 

Is  there  that  greatness  in  his  louk,  thiU  I  lt«v« 
-  heard  speak  of  7 


■Mooa. 


There  is  that  in  his  aspect  that  you  feel  your- 
self grow  larger  as  you  look  at  him,  as  a  tree 
grows  by  looking  at  the  sun.  There  is  in  him 
such  a  soul,  that  men  get  suddenly  strong  by  his 
side.     Have  you  come  to  look  on  him? 

OLD  MAN. 

Aye,  sir,  and  that  this  boy  may  have  sight  of 
him.  His  fatlier,  my  son,  is  a  dragoon  in  the 
camp. 

uniaoa. 

Ha  I  Then  you  shall  have  speech  of  him,  too, 
if  you  wish  it.  He  knows  me,  and  if  he  did 
not,  this  (^striking  the  stump  of  Ms  lost  ami) 
would  be  a  passport  to  his  eye,  and  from  that  to 
his  heart. 


SckMkI  1.] 


ARNOLD  AND  ANDR£. 


rLBMIMO. 

There 's  the  barge  I 

[  Tkt  aitproacking  targt  U  vlriblt  frtm^  <A«  itagt\ 


BRIOOI. 


Aye,  80  it  is,  and  full  of  officers.  As  yet  I 
cannot  make  them  out.  LatJiyetto,  the  noble 
young  Frenchman,  will  bo  among  them. 


I'LKMINO. 

Tliere  's  General  Arnold. 


I,  too, 
did 
larm) 
lat  to 


That 's  Washington  in  the  centre,  is  it  not  ? 

BBIOOS. 

Aye,  and  beside  him,  on  his  left,  is  Li\fayette. 

rLKMIDO. 

And  Arnold  is  on  his  right. 

BRIOOS. 

There,  Washington  is  speaking  to  Lafayette. 
The  stout  one  next  to  Arnold  is  General  Knox 
of  the  artillery,  a  Boston  boy.  He  was  a  volun- 
teer at  Bunker  Hill,  and  has  been  in  every  battle 
in  the  Jerseys.  General  Washington  likes  to 
have  him  near  himself. 


Enn 


mimiiiSasm 


mmm 


24 


ARNOLD  AND  ANDn£, 


TAcT  L 


OLD  MAX. 


Is  General  Greene,  of  Rhode  Island,  there? 

BBIOOS. 

No.  .  The  Commander-in-Chief,  while  absent, 
leaves  him  in  command;  and  worthiest  is  he  to 
till  so  great  a  place. 

FUtMIKO. 

Sergeant,  who  are  the  two  behind  ? 

BRiOOg. 

Ah!  now  I  know  them.  The  one  directly  be- 
hind Lafayette  is  young  Hamilton,  whom  Wash- 
ington loves  as  a  son  and  trusts  as  a  brother. 
The  other  is  Lee  of  Virginia,  —  Major  Lee,  called 
Light-horse  Harry.  He,  too,  has  a  place  in  the 
heart  of  the  chief.  Of  these  three,  Lee,  the 
oldest,  is  only  twenty-four,  Lafjtyette  and  Ham- 
ilton twenty-three. 

OLD  MAir. 

So  young  and  so  ripe  1 

BRIOGB. 

They  are  about  to  land.  Arnold  is  helping 
Washington  out  of  the  barge. 


■i 


irectly  be- 
)m  Wash- 
a  brother, 
jee,  called 
ce  in  the 
Lee,  the 
,nd   Ham- 


is  helping 


ScK«K  I.J  ^^^0ZZ>'  AND  ANDR£ 

««> 

«-  *-.  ^m  .,„..^   ^^.,^,„  J 

^om6on,  who  remain.]  ^ 

ORANUSOir. 

See,   «r;    he   i,    .^,^,^   ^    .^^ 

OU)  MAK, 

Very  sad, -very  «.d.  ^ale  that  Wi  ;„.„ 
Ihy  heart,  „y  boy,  human  eye,  will  never  see 
a  greater. 

0SASD80H. 

He  is  mounting  hia  horae. 

OLD  MAH. 

What  a  majestic  air!    My  .„„,  ,he„  y„„  shall      " 

^«  -  OH  as  I  am,  this  hour  „„1  he  piless  to 
your  grandchildren,  and  n.en  will  h,ve  a  joy  in 
=«e-ng  the  man  who  saw  Washington. 

OBAnDSON. 

What  a  fine  horse  he  rides  I     There  he  goes. 


^^ 


26 


ARNOLD   AND  ANDRlS. 


[Act  I. 


OLD  MAN,  tahing  off  hit  hat. 

Thank    Heaven,   I    have  seen   him.     What   a 
man  I     What  a  man  I 


[Exeunt,      f 


SCENE  n. 

iVew  York. 

Sir  Hemrt  Clinton,   Cotonet  Robinson,  an  Oil  BntUh  OJictr. 

SIR   II.   CLINTON. 

Rebellion's  tattered  banner  droops  at  last, 
Wanting  the  breath  of  eager  confidence. 
Discord,  twin-brother  to  defeat,  now  lifts 
Within  the  Congress  walls  her  husky  voice, 
(Fit  sound  for  rebel  ears,)  and  in  their  camp 
Lean  want  breeds  discontent  and  mutiny : 
The  while,  o'er  our  embattled  squadrons  poised, 
High-crested  victory  flaps  freshened  wings, 
Fanning  the  fires  of  native  valiantness. 
Quickly  shall  peace  revisit  this  vext  land. 
So  long  bestrid  by  war,  whose  iron  heel 
With  her  own  life-blood  madly  stains  her  sides. 


tf* 


ScKMiII.]  ARNOLD   AND   ANDHJU. 


n 


ROBISSUM. 

Our  arms'  success  upon  the  southern  shore, — 
Whose  thirsty  sands  are  saturate  with  streams 
From  rebel  wounds,  —  and  the  discomfiture 
Of  new-bom  hopes  of  aid  from  fickle  France, 
Brought  on  by  Rodney's  timely  coming,  have 
Even  to  the  stoutest  hearts  struck  cold  dismay. 


OLD  OFPICKR. 


Cast  down  they  may  be,  but  despair 's  unknown 
To  their  determined  spirits.     Washington  's 
The  same  as  when  in  '76  he  passed 
The  Delaware,  and,  in  a  darker  hour  "     . 

Than  this  is,  ralUed  his  disheartened  troops. 
And,  by  a  stroke  of  generalship  as  shrewd 
As  bold,  back  turned  the  tide  of  victory. 


ROBINSON. 


But  years  of  finitlesr  warfare,  sucking  up 
The  people's  blood  alike  and  daily  substance, 
Weigh  on  th'  exhausted  land,  like  helpless  debts 
Of  foiled  enterprise,  that  clog  the  step 
Of  action. 


les. 


28 


ARNOLD  AND   ANDli£. 


[Act  1. 


OLD  OPriCBR. 

Deem  yo  not  the  spirit  dulled 
"Which  first  impelled  this  people  to  take  arms 
And  bravo  our  mighty  power,  nor  yet  extinct 
The  hope  which  has  their  energies  upheld 
Against  such  f iarfiil  odds.   The  blood  they  've  shed 
Is  blood  of  martyrs,  —  consecrated  oil, — 
Rich  iuel  to  the  fiame  that 's  boldly  lit 
On  Freedom's  altar,  and  whose  dear  perfume. 
Upward  ascending,  is  by  heroes  snuffed, 
Strengthening  the  soul  of  patriotic  love 
With  ireful  vengeance. 

SIB  R.  OLIMTO:!. 

Whence,  my  veteran  Colonel, 
Comes  it,  that  you,  whose  scarred  body  bears 
The  outward  proofs  of  inward  loyalty. 
Will  entertain  for  rebels  such  regard? 


OLD  OFFICER. 


Custom  of  war  hath  not  so  steeled  my  heart, 
But  that  its  pulse  will  beat  in  admiration 
Of  noble  deeds,  even  those  by  foemen  done ; 
Nor  does  my  sworn  allegiance  to  my  king 


I»5f^ 


[AlT   1. 


SCKNK  II.] 


ARNOLD  AND  ANDRS. 


ins 
net 


shed 


me. 


Jolonel, 
iars 


Irt, 


Ban  sympathy  for  men  who  war  for  rights 
Inherited  from  British  ancestors. 

aiR  H.  CLIHTOM. 

Their  yet  unconquered  souls,  and  the  stern  front 

They  have  so  long  opposed  in  equal  strife 

To  a  war-practised  soldiery,  attest 

Their  valor;  and  for  us  to  stint  the  meed 

Of  praise  for  gallant  bearing  in  the  field. 

Were  self-disparagement,  seeing  that  still 

They  hold  at  bay  our  much  out-numbering  host. 

But  for  the  justice  of  their  cause,  —  the  wrong, 

Skilled  to  bedeck  itself  in  garb  of  right. 

Oft  cheats  the  conscience'  lax  credulity, 

And  thus,  with  virtue's  armature  engirt, 

Will  vice  fight  often  unabashed.     Unloose 

The  spurs  wherewith  desire  of  change,  the  pride 

Of  will,  hot  blood  of  restless,  uncurbed  youth, 

Wanting  a  distant  parent's  discipline, 

And  bad  ambition  of  aspiring  chiefs,  , 

Do  prick  them  on  to  this  unnatural  war, 

And  then  how  tamed  would  be  their  fiery  mettle, 

Heated  alone  by  patriotic  warmth. 


M— fc^. 


80 


ARNOLD  AND  ANDRS. 


[Act  I. 


OLD  OPFICEK. 


^i^    t  it 


My  General,  I  know  this  people  well ; 

And  all  the  virtues  which  Old  England  claims,  , 

As  the  foundntions  of  her  happiness 

And  greatness,  —  such  as  reverence  of  law 

And  custom,  justice,  female  chastity, 

And,  with  them,  independence,  fortitude, 

Courage,  and  sturdiness  of  purpose,  —  are 

Transplanted  here  from  their  maternal  soil, 

And  flourish  undegenerate.     From  these  — 

Sources  exhaustible  but  with  the  life 

That  feeds  them — their  severe  intents  take  birth. 

And  draw  the  lusty  sustenance  to  mould 

The  limbs  and  body  of  their  own  fulfilment, 

So  that  performance  lag  not  after  purpose. 

They  are  our  countrymen :  they  are,  as  well 

In  ntanly  resolution  as  in  blood, 

The  children  of  our  fathers.     Washington 

Doth  ken  no  other  language  than  the  one 

We  speak ;  and  never  did  an  English  tongue 

Give  voice  unto  a  larger,  wiser  mind. 

You  '11  task  your  judgment  vainly  to  descry. 


V  V 


irell 


I  true 


S-^; 


ScKNE  11.1         ARNOLD  AND  ANDRA  31 

Through  all  this  desperate  conflict,  in  his  plans 

A  flaw,  or  fault  in  execution.     He 

In  spirit  is  unconquerable,  as 

In  genius  perfect.     Side  by  side  I  fought 

With  him  in  that  disastrous  enterprise 

Where   hot-brained  Braddock  fell ;  and  there  I 

marked 
The  veteran's  skill  contend  for  mastery 
With  youthful  courage  in  his  wondrous  deeds. 
Well  might  the  ruthless  Indian  warrior  pause, 
Amid  his  massacre  confounded,  and 
His  baffled  rifle's  aim,  till  then  unerring, 
Turn  from  "that  tall  young  man,"  and  deem  in 

awe 
That  the  Great  Spirit  hovered  over  him ; 
For  he,  of  all  our  mounted  oflicers. 
Alone  came  out  unscathed  from  that  dread  car- 
nage. 
To  guard  our  shattered  army's  swift  retreat. 
For  years  did  his  majestic  form  hold  place 
Upon  my  mind,  stamped  in  that  perilous  hour, 
In  th'  image  of  a  stalwart  friend,  until 


88  ARNOLD  AND   ANDRE.  [Act  I. 

I  met  him  next  as  a  resistless  foe. 

'T  was   at   the    figlit   near   Princeton.     In   quick 

march, 
Victorious  o'er  his  van,  onward  we  pressed. 
When,  moving  with  finn  pace,  led  by  the  chief 
Himself,  their  central  force  encountered  us. 
One    moment    paused    th'    opposing    hosts,    and 

then 
The  rattling  volley  hid  the  death  it  bore ; 
Another,  and  the  sudden  cloud,  uprolled, 
Revealed,  midway  between  the  adverse  lines, 
His  drawn  sword  gleaming  high,  the  chief,  —  as 

though 
That  crash  of  deadly  music  and  the  burst 
Of  sulphurous  vapor  had  from  out  the  earth 
Summoned  the  god  of  war.     Doubly  imperilled 
He  stood  unharmed.     Like  eagles  tempest-bome 
Rushed  to  his  side  his  men  :  and  had  our  souls 
And  arms  with  tenfold  strength  been  braced,  we 

yet 
Had  not  withstood  that  onset.     Thus  does  he 
Keep  ever  w^ith  occasion  even  step, — 


*^uti  ji 


arth 
lerilled 
st-borne 
ur  souls 
aced,  we 


ScKNK  II.]  ARNOLD  AND   ANDWS. 


t8 


Now,  mockingly  before  our  angry  speed 
Retreating,  tempting  us  witli  battle's  promise 
Only  to  toil  us  with  a  vain  pursuit, — 
Now,  wheeling  rapidly  about  our  flanks. 
Startling  our  ears  with  sudden  peal  of  war, 
And  fronting  in  the  thickest  of  the  fight 
The  common  soldier's  death,  stirring  the  blood 
Of  faintest  hearts  to  deeds  of  bravery 
By  his  great  presence,  —  and  his  every  act, 
Of  lieady  onslaught  as  of  backward  march, 
From  thoughtful  judgment  first  inferred. 


R0BIX80N. 


If  you 
Report  him  truly,  and  your  lavish  words 
Be  not  the  wings  to  float  a  brain-bom  vision, 
But  are  true  heralds  who  deliver  what 
In  cor|)oral  doings  will  be  stern  avouched, 
Then  was  this  man  bom  to  command ;  and  shall 
Ingrate  revolt  be  justified  by  fate,  ,'--L 

And  Britain's  side  bleed  with  the  rending  off 
Of  this  vast  member ;  they  will  find  it  so,  * 
Who  seek  to  gain  a  greater  hberty 


]m 


84  ARNOLD   AND   ANDR£.  [Act  I. 

Than  profiteth  man's  passion-mastered  state. 

Jove's    bird   as    soon    shall    quail    Iiis   cloud-wet 

plumage,  i 

Sinking  liis  sinewy  wafture  to  the  flight 

Of  common  pinions,  —  or  the  silent  tide 

Break  its  mystericas  law  at  the  wind's  bidding. 

Remitting  for  a  day  its  mighty  flood 

Upon  this  shore,  —  as  that,  one  recognized 

To  have  all  kingly  qualities  shall  not 

Assert  his  natural  supremacy. 

And  weaker  men  submit  to  his  full  sway. 

Power  doth  grow  unto  the  palm  that  wields  it. 

The  necks  that  bend  to  make  ambition's  seat 

Must  still  uphold  its  overtopping  weight, 

Or,  moving,  be  crushed  under  it. 
« 

OLD  OPFICBB. 

And  heads 
That  quit  the  roof  of  sheltering  peace,  and  bare 

them  , 

To  war's  fierce  lightning  for  a  principle, 
Becrown  the  limbs  of  men,  each  one  a  rock 
Baflling  with  loftiness  ambition's  step, 


[Act  I. 


««"«  "•]         ARNOLD  AND  ANDRE. 
Whose  laddor  is  servility.     Were  they 


86 


Susceptible  of  usurpation's  sway, 
This  conflict  had  not  been  ;  and  then  the  world 
Had  missed  a  Washington,  whose  greatness  is 
Of  greatness   born.     Him   have  they  raised,  be- 
cause 

Of  his  great  worth ;  and  he  has  headed  them, 
For  that  they  knew  to  value  him.     Had  he 
Been  less,  then  they  had  passed  him  by;  and  had 
Their  souls  lacked  nobleness,  his  towering  trunk, 

Scanted  of  genial  sap,  had  failed  to  reach 

Its  proper  altitude.     No  smiling  time 

Is  this  for  hypocritical  ambition 

To  cheat  men's  minds  with  virtue's  counterfeit 

What    made    him    Washington,    makes   him    the 
chief 

Of  this  vast  league,  -  and  that 's  integuity. 
The  which  his  regal  qualities  enlinks 
In  one  great  arch,  to  bear  the  sudden  weight 
Of  a  new  cause,  and,  strengthening  ever,  hold 
Compact  'gainst  time's  all-whelming  step. 


»6 


ARNOLD  AND  ANDRH. 


f^cr  I. 


•II.  H.  cLiirroN. 

What  now 
You  speak,  you  'II  bo  rumlnded  of,  belike, 
Ero  many  weeks  are  pasaed  ;  and  well  I  know. 
Your  ann  will  not  bo  backward,  if  there  's  need. 
To  prove  your  own  words'  falsity.     Meanwhile, 
Hold  you  in  readiness  for  sudden  march. 

[£*«  Old  Offictr. 

BOBUflOlf. 

A  better  soldier  than  a  prophet. 

■IB  II.  CUMluX. 

•      Yet, 
Scarce  does  his  liberal  extolment  stretch 
Beyond  its  object's  dues.     Were  Washington 
Not  rooted  in  his  compeers'  confidence. 
And  in  his  generalship  unmatched,  this  league 
Had  long  since  crumbled  from  within,  and  o'er 
Its  se,   i>d  bands  our  arms  had  quickly  triumphed. 
In  <UJ,  his  mighty  spirit 's  ordinant. 
The  while  his  warriors,  ranged  in  council  round 

him. 
Listen  to  plans  of  learned  generalship, 


mmss 


I 


Mot  I. 


Within  tlir.  CongroM  is  hi.s  voicelos,  will 
rotentinl  as  the  whitest  senator's. 
Kver  between  their  reeling  cause  and  us 
Comes  his  stern  brow,  to  awe  fell  Ruin',  ,,,1^^ 

Tisagrandgameheplays,  and,  bymysoul, 
^  orthy  the  g,»me  and  player  is  the  stake. 
A  fair  broad  land  it  is  for  a  new  kingdom  • 

I|  he  can  win  it,  let  him  wear  it. -Still  naught 
^mn  Arnold?     Washington's  keen  vigihuu-e 
Will  yet  defeat  this  plot.     Delay  is  fatal. 

iioiiiNsuir. 
He  's  now  near  Arnold's  post.     If  ho  depart, 
(As  'tis  his  plan,  to  hold  an  interview 
With   the  French   leaders  at   the  town  of  Hart- 
ford,) 

We'll  know  he  harbors  no  suspicious  thougit; 
And  then  we  cannot  fail.     His  presence  there 
I.>  hmdrance  absolute  to  any  movement, 
Whether  he  do  suspect  or  not. 

«W  H.  CUKTOW. 

Tk  .  ,      ,  -^^'^  Arnold,  — 

Tha^  he  did  vow  in  hate  is  warranty 


.■•sa^-«!ssM*- 


■  »■ 


38  ARNOLD  AND  ANDRH.  [Act  L 

That  what  he  promised  he  designed  to  do. 

But  what  then  gave   him  means  and  power  to 

compass 
His    wishes'  end  may,   too,  have    chanced    their 

bent; 
For  opportunity,  that  oftentimes 
Creates  desire,  doth  sometimes  blunt  its  edge. 
The    high    command    wherewith    lie    has    been 

trusted 
May   heal   the  wound   't  was   sought  for   to   re- 
quite. 
His  now  position  is  a  vantage-ground, 
Whence  he  as  easily  may  wipe  away 
As  venge  his  past  disgrace.     Beneath  his  malice 
Still  bums  th'  aspiring  soldier's  love  of  fame. 
Still  beats  the  husband's  and  the  father's  heart. 

ROBINSON. 

There  's  in  him  no  live  seed  of  honesty. 

For  the  pure  dews  of  natural  affection 

To  quicken  with  their  sweetness.     And  the  cord. 

Wherewith  ambitiously  he  swung  himself 

Aloft  o'er  revolution's  dark  abyss. 


11 


[Act  L 

do. 
power  to 

iCed    their 


s  edge, 
has    been 

for   to   re- 


lis  malice 
fame, 
's  heart. 


the  cord. 


m»rr.  <.iwi  giii 


SciuiE  II.]  ARNOLD  AND  ANDR£. 

Has  rotted  'n  his  hand ;  and  now  he  'd  leap 
Th'  audacious  backward  leap  of  desperation. 

8IB  R.  CLIMTOM. 

You  know  the  passes  to  the  fort.     Can  he, 
Without  suspicion  of  his  purposes, 
Expose  them  to  our  easy  mastering? 

BOBIKSON. 

That  can  he,  and  deliver  to  our  hands 
The  fortress,  ere  the  garrison  have  time 
To  counteract  their  own  astonishment. 

SIR  H.   CUKTOK. 

This  post  were  worth  a  dozen  victories. 

BOBINSON. 

It  is  their  common  magazine,  wherein 
Are  stored  munitions  for  a  year's  campaign. 
To  gain  it,  were  to  turn  into  oiurselves 
A  stream  of  hoarded  sustenance  for  war, 
And  by  diversion  of  so  full  a  spring. 
Wither  in  them  the  sinews  of  contention. 

SIR  H.   CLINTOM. 

Weak  are  they  now  from  our  late  triumphs, 
And  repetition  of  unfruitful  blows. 


39 


1 


II    i 


40  ARNOLD  AND  ANDR£.  [Act  I. 

The  sudden  yawning  under  them  of  this 
Great  treachery  will  strike  their  souls  with  awe, 
Appall  their  boldest,  and  unheart  them  quite. 
Can  a  resolve,  whose  execution  shall 
Flash  such  quick  desolation,  lie  so  deep 
That  no  pale  shadow  or  vague  murmur  come      [' 
Presaging  to  the  general  mind?     But  l-i-re 
Is  Andre,  and  in  his  countenance  a  light 
The  prologue  to  some  joyful  news. 
Ehltr  Andkb. 

What  bring  you? 

Tidings  that  promise  to  our  scheme  a  quick 
And  happy  consummation.     Hear  what  I 
This  moment  have  received : 

[  He  takes  out  a  letter,  and  reads  at  follows  :] 
"Our  master  goes  away  on  tlie  17th  [yesterday]  of 
this  month.  He  will  he  absent  five  or  six  days.  Let 
us  avail  ourselves  of  this  interval  to  arrange  our  busi- 
ness. Come  immediately  and  meet  mc  at  the  lines, 
and  we  will  settle  definitely  the  risks  and  profits  of 
the  copartnership.  All  will  be  ready ;  but  this  inter- 
view is  indispensable,  and  must  precede  the  sailing  of 
our  ship." 


mm 


mmmmmtm 


[Act  I. 


Jay]  of 
fs.  Let 
busi- 
lines, 
afits  of 
inter- 
kliug  of 


w 


ScBSK  II.l  ARSOLD  AND  ANDR£. 


41 


siK  II.  CLimsit. 
Now  hold  he  true,  we  fail  not.     Robinson, 
What   think   you?     Should   he   prove   a  double 
traitor  ? 

KODIMaON. 

He  dare  not,  if  he  would.     If  that  his  limbs 
Lay  at  your  feet  here  prostrate  with  the  load 
Of  chains,  more  captive  were  he  not  to  you 
Than  now  he  is  behind  his  trenchM  walls. 
Wliate'er  betide,  he  can't  'scape  infamy ; 
And  from  no  hand  but  ours  receive  its  price. 
Doubly  a  traitor,  he  were  doubly  lost. 
His  only  safety  lies  in  truth  to  us. 

Are  we  not  safe,  too,  'gainst  his  treachery  ? 

We  hazard  nothing ;  for  our  sorest  loss 

Is  but  defeat  of  hope.     And  if  we  win, 

Our  gain  is  infinite.     Not  even  aught 

Of  personal  peril 's  in  the  plan  we  spoke  of. 

Seize  we  the  moment,  and  a  wound  we  give 

Shall  cleave  in  twain  rebellion's  stubborn  heart. 


1'^ 


"^^^fW&Sf&i''' 


ARNOLD  AND  ANDR£. 


[Act  I. 


■Mjmm 


K0BIX80M. 

This  interview  must  be  ;  or  else,  no  act. 

For,  till  he  meet  us  face  to  face,  as  still 

And  secret  as  a  voiceless  dream  must  lie 

Within  his  breast  the  thought  of  what  he  'd  do. 

Unto  no  other  ear  dare  he  reveal 

The  plot  or  means  for  its  accomplishment. 

We  must  risk  something  'gainst  his  single  daring. 

The  private  business  that  'tis  known  I  have, 

Will  be  our  pretext  openly  to  near 

His  lines,  and  safeguard  afterwards.     A  flag 

Will  cover  then  our  meeting. 

■IB  H.  CUMTOX. 

And  meanwhile, 
Troops  shall  embark,  and  be  in  readiness 
To  move  on  your  return.     Now  despatch,  — 
And  ere  thrice  thirty  hours  are  passed,  I  '11  pluck 
From  wary  Washington's  high  wing  a  plume. 
That  shall  so  maim  its  flight  that  to  my  reach 
'Twill  flutter  helplessly.  [Extuia. 


^'- 


[Act  I. 


'd  do. 


daring, 
ive, 


^ 


irhile, 


pluck 
|nc, 
sach 

Ex»uM. 


SCEMB   1.1 


ARNOLD  AND  ANDRS. 


48 


ACT  IL 

80INI  I. 

AmohTt  Head-quarier$. 
ARNOLD,  aiont. 

So  armed  is  he  with  foresight,  his  hroad  eye 

Unknowing  balks  the  cheating  future's  practice. 

He  cautioned  me  against  the  flag  of  truce : 

To  let  it  pass  might  kindle  now  suspicion. 

Andr^  himself  will  come ;  and  he  shall  meet  me 

Within  our  lines.     There  is  no  other  way. 

He  's  young  and  venturesome ;  and  then  his  risk 

Is  small  to  mine.     And  I  risk  naught:  my  life. 

A  soldier's  life  belongs  not  to  himself; 

'Tis  war's  light  plaything.     Mine  I've  oflen  cast 

Into  the  cannon's  red-mouthed  deafening  rage. 

And  for  this  unconditioned  sacrifice, 

For  trophies,  victories,  hardships,  losses,  wounds, 

What  have  I  ?  ,  Poverty,  neglect,  injustice. 

Defrauded  of  my  pay ;  my  claims  contemned ; 


I 


44 


ARNOLD  AND  ANDRJS. 


[Act  II. 


My  rank,  my  sword-won  rank,  long  scanted  nie. 
My  power  as  foe  shall  teach  this  wrangling  Con- 
gress .       ' 
My  worth  as  friend.    England  is  still  my  counti^. 
I  've  been  a  rebel ;  and  I  '11  do  deep  penance 

For  my  disloyalty.  —  But  if  they  win 

What  sound  is  that?     Arnold  the  traitor!    Hal 

The  traitor  Arnold!    Are  my  ears  asleep 

And    dreaming  ?      Tliere  !      Who    spoke  ?      I  '11 

swear  I  heard  it. 
And  now  my  eyes  abet  my  ears.     See  there,  — 
A  multitude  of  millions,  millions,  stretching,        - 
Stretching  o'er  mountains,  prairies,  endless,  end- 
less ! 
One  angry  voice  from  all,  Arnold  the  traitor! 
'T  is  false  ;  you  lie,  you  lie  ;  I  am  no  traitor. 
I    unmake    what    I  've    made.      This    cause,    this 

country, 
'Twas  my  soul  warmed,  'twas  my  hand  built  it, 

mine. 
1  may  uproot  what  I  myself  have  planted.  — 
But  if  I  fail Now  is  my  name  emblazoned 


.mmmmmmmmmmmm^ 


3,  end- 


or. 


tor. 
!,    this 

lilt  it, 


oned 


ScKKBl.]  ARNOLD  AND  ANDRt.  45 

High  up  on  Glory's  time-proof  column,  linked 

To  Washington's.     Too  late,  'tis  now  too  late.— 

Again  that  fearful  sound  I     Silence,  or  I 

Go  mad.     Am  I  a  baby?    There, 't  is  hushed. 

I  shame  to  be  so  shaken.     Hal  ha  I  ha  I 

What  fools  imagination  makes  of  us. 

Hal  ha  I  ha  I  U 

£n<er  Mrs.  Arnold. 

MR8.  ARNOLD.  ^v 

What  hast  thou  ? 

ARKOLD. 

Didst  thou  hear  naught? 

WRa.  ARNOLD, 

Hear  I    Where?    Wha.  ails  thee  ? 

ARNOLD. 

Nothing,  nothing,  nothing. 
I  Ve  had  ill  news  again  from  Congress ;  that 's  all. 

MRS.  ARNOLr. 

The  thankless  men  I 

ARNOLD. 

In  Philadelphia,  tell  me, 
What  didst  thou  gather?    • 


/ 


•''* 


%Qm^ 


46 


ARNOLD  AND  ANDRS. 


[AoTiL 


MU.  ARMOLO. 


That  your  enemies 
Are  strong  as  aye,  and  still  more  bitter. 

ARNOLD. 

Hal 

MBS.  ARNOLD. 

Some  dare  to  say  you  are  not  worth  this  post. 

ARNOLD. 

Ha !    say  they  so  ? — (^Aside.')     I  '11   prove   them 

prophets  yet.  — 
But  of  the  war  what 's  thought  ? 

MRS.  ARNOLD. 

That  it  cannot  last 
Much  longer.     Some,  the  bolder,  say  so  freely ; 
Some  whisper  it ;  and  some,  the  timid  ones, 
Shrug  up  their  shoulders  and  look  blank;  but  all 
Are  sick  of  it,  and  sigh  for  speedy  peace. 
While  I  was  there  came  news  of  Gates's  rout. 
Men  were  aghast.     The  hopefullest  faces  fell. 
The  streets  all  hisseJ  with  railing :  some  at  Gates, 
Others  at  Washington,  the  most  at  Congress. 
Three  out  of  four  are  ready  for  submission ; 


mam 


r 


[Aor  IL 
lies 

Hal 

post, 
them 


<t  last 
lely; 

» 

[ut  all 

3Ut. 
1. 

rates, 


«? 


M 


SoEHB  I.]  ARNOLD  AND  ANDRH.  47 

And  should  there  come  another  big  defeat, 
The  Congress  will  not  hold  a  week  together. 
Oh,  would  that  chance,  which  drops  us  where  it 

lists, 
Had  planted  you  upon  the  other  side  1 

ARNOLD.  ' 

You  'd  have  me  quit  a  losing  causa 

MBS.  ARMOLD. 

Nay,  nay. 
The  cause  is  yours,  for  better  or  for  worse. 
You're  married  to  it.     So  long  ago  was  done 
This    work    of   spiteful    chance,    the    seed    hath 

grown 
To  such  a  stature,  that  to  wrench  it  now 
Would  tear  up  honor  by  the  bleeding  roots, 
A>id  cast  you  level  with  its  prostrate  trunk. 
Oh,  no !     My  maiden  hopes,  't  is  true,  were  Eng- 
lish ; 
And  I  with  Andr^  and  the  rest  have  laughed. 
How    many    a    time,  —  spoilt    nursling    that    I 

was, — 
At  Continental  raggedness  and  shifts. 


■:^  i 


■I 
■ 


'I  ' 


48  ARNOLD  AND  ANDR£.  [act  IL 

Hut  now  I  'in  Arnold's  wife  ;  and  from  tlio  day 
That  I  consented  to  be  that,  the  cause, 
Wlioreof  he  is  a  trusted  chief,  is  mine.    " 
And,  know  you,  I  begin  to  honor  it, 
.To  spy  a  greatness  'hind  its  slininken  visage. 
W  In  Phihidelpliia  my  old  friends  and  I, 

We  angered  one  another  with  warm  wiirda 
And  daily  contradiction.     Washington, 
Your  friend,  our  towering  head,  the  man  of  men, 
Even  he  escapes  not  their  coarse  jests  and  ran- 

cor. 
The    more    they   jibed,   the    more    my   thoughts 

hugged  thee 
And  our  dear  boy ;  and  from  their  banterings 
I  fled  to  Awaking  dreams  of  his  great  future, — 
How  his  illustrious  name  will  usher  him 
To  eminence  in  the  hard-won  Republic; 
How  in  the  street  people  will  smile  upon  him, 
And   gray-haired   men  will   boast  they  knew  his 

father. 
f  And  now  I  think  of  it,  'tis  two  days  since 

Thou  hast  asked  to  see  him. 


mmmm 


■■4 


:*»e, 


■m 


•MMM 


8o««B  M  ARNOLD  AND  ANDRJS.  || 

ARNOLD. 

Is  ho  well? 

MM.  ARXOLD. 

A  lump 
Of  rosy  health,  and  hourly  more  like  thee. 

lAmokl  bursU  into  tear$.] 

Great  Heaven  I    My  husband  I    What  hast  thou? 

thou  'rt  ill. 
Never  before  did  I  behold  thee  weep. 

ARKOLD. 

I  'm  ill,  —  to  horse,  to  horse,  —  I  must  i'  th'  air. 

£nUr  an  AUtndanl. 

ATTBNDAirr. 

A  letter,  sir,  this  moment  brought  in  haste. 

AUNOLM. 

Hal   from  Whem?  [E^  AHendan,, 

[Arnold  Uar$  open  the  letter,  and  devoun  U$  eonlent$.] 

I  must  away  on  th'  instant. 

[Riuhes  out. 
MKS.  AKifoLD,  gating  at  him  a$tounded,  and  (hen  wildly. 

Hal  —  No, —  Oh,  agony!  it  cannot  be.         ^e^ 


.inn  II  II  Vlifr  r^-ji.r^^rfi,'-,fri-  / 1-~  mfiiiiiiiiniiiKiiiiiiiiiii  ,1 1.  ,,„  m,,,!,  j; 


^f^'^^^f^f/WSllBfltnVfMlllw^fl^lStl^S!'^''' 


ARNOLD  AND  ANDJiJS. 


[Arr  II. 


BCKNI  II. 

Calnn  of  the  Uritith  tloop-of-war  "  Vulture"  lying  in 
the  Hudton  River,  a  Jew  miles  below  King's  Ferry, 
towardt  midnlijht,  September  i\tt. 

CuloHtl  RoiiiNDuN,  Major  AiiDHit,  and  Cafitnin  Sutiirrlamd,  com- 
mandtr  of  Ihe  "  Vullwt." 

ANORi. 

You  '11  pardon  me,  Captain,  for  think!  nte 

of  my  quarters  and  my  company,  that  this  sail- 
or's life  up  n  river  is  as  tedious  as  fishing  with 
an  unbated  hook.     It 's  neither  work  nor  play. 

BUTIIERLAMn. 

I  am  entirely  of  your  mind,  Major.  It  smacks 
too  much  of  the  land-aervice  for  my  palate.  But 
have  patience.  Your  friend.  General  Arnold,  will 
soon  relieve  you. 

ANDRlf. 

The  General  is  as  cautious  in  his  diplomacy  as 
he  is  headlong  in  the  field.  If  ha  come  not  to- 
night, I  shall  think  he  hrts  changed  his  mind. 


■MaMMIMaiWMMmi 


imiin«><nMa««P*Mw>4MMiiWP> 


[Art  II. 


Scb:ik  II]  a  UN  old  AND  ANDR£. 


an 


lying  in 
I  Ferry, 

AMD,  COW* 


lis  sail- 
ig  with 
play. 

smacks 
But 
cl,  will 


*,^'\ 


BOBimoir. 
Whotlier  his  mind  be  changed  or  not,  he  can- 
not   now   retreat.     Wo    have    too   strong   a   cord 
round  liis  neck  for  that. 

[rA<  vaUh  ua  Jtck  ttiiktt  tight  btlU.] 

A.NDHlt. 

What's  that?     Not  iirulnight. 

•UTIIEKLAMU. 

Aye,  all  of  it. 

orpiCKa  or  tiik  wator,  on  the  ckck  oAom. 

Boat  ahoy  I 

ROBIMION. 

Hark!     There  ho  is. 


VOICK,  ffom  the  boaL 


A  friend. 


orriCER,  on  deck. 

Where  from,  and  whither  bound  ? 


VOICE. 


From  King's  Ferry  to  Dobbs's  Ferry. 

OFriCBB,  on  deck. 

You  lubberly  land-shark,  how  dare  you,  under 
cover  of  the  night,  get  within  the  buoyn  of  one 


jiSiiiSiii^iSMmi^^ 


i".',',,Jj!!§!.' 


!■■.■■!■■»" 


iiMiMlpi— aMfMrtffnMMi  nvii  it  afMn     ■   nuti  m  i 


62  ARNOLD   AND  ANDRH.  [Act  a 

of  His  Majesty's  ships?  Spring  your  luff  and 
come  along-side,  you  son  of  a  sea-cook,  or  I  'II 
deaden  your  headway  before  you  can  say  your 
prayers. 

AMUHlf. 

A  savory  salutation  that  to  a  major-general. 

BUTIIERLAVO. 

That's  old  Rowley,  the  best  deck-officer  in  the 
service.  —  Murphy  1  (^Enter  a  hoy.")  A  man  has 
just  come  on  deck  from  a  botit.  Go  up  and 
bring  him  to  the  cabin. 


Ay,  ay,  sir. 


[FxU, 


ROBINSON. 

We  are  not  sure  that  this  is  Arnold.  It  will 
be  prudent  for  you,  Major  Andr^,  to  withdraw 
into  your  state-room. 

AMDRli. 

You  were  ever  a  good  mentor,  Colonel.     [Exii. 

Enter  Smith. 

BOBINaOK. 

Mr.  Smith,  I  believe. 


[  r'xil. 


'm 


., 


' "■ '  m9'Wf'ii''''*'!'m!'mrmmfmmmim'<f>' 


Scene  II.]  ARNOLD   AND  ANDRjS. 


58 


8MITH. 

Colonel  Robinson,  I  'm  glad  to  see  you  again. 
I  bring  you  a  letter  from  General  Arnold. 

[Gives  the  letter,  which  Robinson  mads.'] 

BODINBON. 

Have  you  any  other  papers  ? 

SMITH. 

Two  passports. 

[Givei  'Jiem  to  Robinson.] 

ROBIMSON. 

This  one  (reading')  authorizes  you  "  to  go  to 
Dobbs's  Fer-y  to  carry  some  letters  of  a  private 
nature  for  a  gentleman  in  New  York,  and  to  re- 
turn immediately."  The  other  is  a  "  permission 
to  Joshua  Smith,  Mr.  John  Anderson,  and  two 
servants,  to  pass  and  repass  the  guards  near 
King's  Ferry,  at  all  times."  Where  is  General 
Arnold? 

SMITH. 

He  waits  at  the  landing,  where  I  left  him  half 
an  hour  since. 


iiii 


■;;  : 


^1 


mmuamamfsm 


ARNOLD   AND   ANDRH.  [Act  II. 

R0BIN8ON. 

Mr.  Smith,  I  '11  leave  you  for  a  few  moments 
with  Captain  Sutherland.  [Exit. 

8UTI1KKLAND. 

Take  a  seat,  sir.  (^Both  «t<.)  When  do  you 
think,  Mr.  Smith,  this  war  will  end. 

SMITH. 

When  there  shall  be  neither  a  British  soldier 
on  our  soil,  nor  a  British  gun  in  our  waters. 

BUTIIKRLAND. 

Oh !  then  you  prize  the  war  so  much,  you  mean 
to  leave  it  as  an  heirloom  to  your  grandchildren  ? 

SMITH. 

I  give  you  our  final  terms,  come  what  may. 

BUTIIBRLAMD. 

But,  seriously,  your  side  looks  very  black  just 
now. 

SMITH. 

It  has  looked  black  from  the  first,  and  looks 
now  blacker  than  ever ;  but  it  is  t'  s  blackness 
of  the  thunder-cloud, — the  blacker  it  is,  the  more 
lightning  there  is  in  it. 


"^^V^^ 

lAoT  n. 

:  r;'  ,  . 

noments      ^ 

[Exit.    ' 

-'^i^   - 

do  you 

soldier 

ers. 

u  mean 

ildren  ? 

may. 

:k  just 

■ 

1 

looks 

ckness 

i  more 

ScKjiK  II.]         ARNOLD  AND  ANDR£, 


m 


8UTHBRLAKO. 

Well  said,  by  Jove.  It  can't  be  denied,  there 's 
good  stuff  in  your  fellows.  And  for  my  part, 
Mr.  Smith,  I  tell  you  frankly,  I  hate  this  war, 
and  heartily  wish  it  over,  —  aye,  and  I  '11  say 
more,  —  I  wish  it  over  without  loss  of  honor  to 
either  side. 


SMITH. 


I  wish,  then,  from  my  heart.  Captain  Suther- 
land, that  you  were  Prime-Minister  of  England. 
Permit  me,  though,  to  say,  that  we  might  with- 
out loss  of  honor  lose  our  cause ;  and  that,  would 
not  suit  our  temper.  Honor  is  a  good  thing, 
useful  at  times,  as  well  as  orn  mental ;  but  it 
follows  in  the  wake  of  our  cause,  and  if  we  lose 
that,  we  shall  not  take  the  trouble  to  pick  honor 

SUTHERLAND. 

You  count  largely  on  your  French  allies. 

SMITH. 

More  on  their  hatred  of  you  than  on  their 
love  for  us. 


56 


ARNOLD   AND  ANDR^. 


[Act  II. 


8UTHKKLAMD. 


They  say  that  General  Washington  is  gone  to 
Hartford  to  meet  the  French  commanders,      -v- 


Captain,  how  many  spies  do  you  keep  in  your 


I    ■ 


service  ? 


aUTIIERLAND. 


Always,  Mr.  Smith,  one  less  than  you  keep 
in  yours. 

Btfnter  Colonel  Rodimson,  accompanied  by  Major  ANDBii,  in  a 
Hue  overcoat  aith  cape  clwe  buttoned. 

KOBINSOM. 

Mr.  Smith,  I  am  not  well  enough  to  go  out 
in  an  open  boat  in  the  night.  My  friend  here, 
Mr.  Anderson,  understands  the  business  about 
which  the  General  and  I  were  to  confer,  and  is 
ready  to  accompany  you. 

auiTH. 
The  business  is  yours,  Colonel,  and  not  mine. 
I  am  but  a  go-between  'twixt  you  and  the  Gen- 
eral, happy  to  serve  both  of  you  in  any  honor- 
able way.  It  is  already  so  late,  I  advise  that 
we  start  at  once. 


fACT  IL 


rone  to 


in  your 


u  keep 


[DRii,  in  a 


go    out 

d  here, 

about 

and  is 


mine. 

|e  Gen- 

honor- 

;e  that 


ScEME  II.]         ARNOLD   AND   ANDR£. 


67 


AMURtf. 


The  sooner  the  better.    Farewell,  Colonel ;  fare- 
well,  Captain. 

R0BIM80IC. 

God  bless  you,  my  friend.     Don't  forget  your 
instructions. 

ABDR^. 

No  fear  of  that 


Farewell. 


R0BIM801C. 


SMITH, 


Gentlemen,   good   night.  ^e.^^  smith  and  Andre. 

BOBIMgON. 

This  business  disquiets  me.  Captain.  I  opposed 
Andre's  going  on  shore;  but  he  is  eager,  and 
would  not  be  overruled.     I  have  misgivings. 

BOTHERLAMD. 

I  see  no  cause  for  them. 

BODINSON. 

Think  what  a  man  we  are  dealing  with.  Of 
Andrd's  safety  what  thought  will  he  take  wlio  is 
capable  of  such  a  treason  ? 


'■i  ?f 


■"T 


58 


ARNOLD   AND   ANDRH. 


[Act  II. 


BVTIIEKLAMD. 


J.' 


But  observe  how  thoughtful  he  ha/i  been  of 
his  own  safety ;  and  henceforth  that  is  bound 
closely  up  with  the  safety  of  Andr^. 

BOBINSON. 

True,  but  villains  are   so  apt   to  be  botchers ; 

they  leave  a  flaw   somewhere,  villany  so   blinds 

the   judgment.     From   a   bad   heart   there    rises 

into    the    brain    a    sickly   breath    that    dims    the 

mind's  vision.     We  will  hope  for  the  best. 

[ExewU, 


SGENB  in. 

I'oot  of  a  mountain  called  the  Long  Glove,  on  the 
wettem  shore  of  the  river,  several  miles  below  Stony 
Point.  One  hour  and  a  half  after  midnight,  Sep- 
tember 22d. 

ARNOLD,  alone, 

I  like  to  be  alone,  and  in  the  night. 

Darkness  and  my  deep  purpose  are  attuned ; 

For  that  is  dark  and  natural  as  night, 


I  ^-""•^ -^•■•ii- '-^'^  r^l^An.-^■«f^.^.^y■1T^f^^f,  1^,^.-^  t7H-^if^ii-lni'ifaiWiiito^]lhU.'.'i 


! 


ScMBlII.]        ARNOLD  AND  ANDRH.  69 

Aye,    and    as    wholesome    too.      Wherefore    not 

wholesome  ? 
Strong    men    are    their    own    law.     'T  is    meant 

they  should  be. 
Else,  wherefore  have  they  tliat  which  builds  the 

world  ? 
Poor  weaklings  pile  about  their  littleness 
A  rampart  of  conventions,  which  the  strong 
Storm  with  their  intellectual  squadrons  deep, 
Making  the  garrison  slaves  irredeemable. 
Let  them  cry  shame  and  conscience  as  they  will. 
Conscience,  forsooth  !    Where  are  there  two  alike  ? 
Fools    set    their    conscience    by    their    neighbors' 

wants. 
My  wants  —  they  are  a  liberal  hungry  crew  — 
Make  mine.     Life  is  a  game,  where  stz-ong  will 

wins,  , 

A  war,  where  stratagem  and  force  are  victors. 
Never  from  boyhood  have  I  dreadetl  aught. 
Shall  I  begin  so  late,  and  wince  with  fear 
Before  the  chief  of  changelings,  vile  opinion, 
The  whitest  coward  of  the  coward  world  ? 


:   I ; 


sas^i 


fiC 


V 


60  ARNOLD  AND   ANDRg.  [Act  II. 

Traitor!     England  ealh  Washington  a  traitor. 

What  if  I  holp  to  provo  him  one.     I  hate  him, 

With  his  chill  stateliness,  his  wise  reserve 

His  stubborn  prudence,  and  his  calm  directness. 

Of  all  the  men  I  've  known,  only  with  him 

I  am  not  at  my  ease.     It  angers  me. 

To  feel  my  nature  is  rebuked  by  his. 

A  withering  frost  I  '11  be  to  his  young  greatness. 

Striking  with  palsy  their  pale  bankrupt  cause. 

In  this  coarse  world  failure  is  ignominy. 

The  night  wears  fast  away.     'Tis  time  he  came." 
Had  I  been  sure  of  Smith,  myself  had  gone. 
It  had  been  quicker  done.     But  he  's  so  vain. 
The  best  of  marplots  is  glib  vanity. 
The  night  is  cool.     I '11  walk  awhile.       iwuhhaw,. 

Enitr  Smith  wilh  ANDRi. 

SMITH,  caulioutlg. 

General  I  General!    I  left  him  hereabout.    I'll 
seek  him.     He  will  not  be  far. 


l&eU 


Avnni,  alone. 

Moments  there  are  when  thought  is  so  ablaze 
With  all  the  fires  that  have  inflamed  a  life, 


T 


''*^»idmmmimmfii»'ShKii)imi^mktmiitiMikt 


■ra 


Act  II. 

or. 
him, 

ness. 
a 


atness, 
use. 

came.' 
ne. 
lain. 

fithdrawM. 


I'll 

[Exit 


laze 


SoKiiB  III.]        ARNOLD  AND  ANDR£.  61 

That  memory  ia  one  great  grasping  light, 

Flashed  on  the  present  from  the  total  past 

I  seem  not  to  havo  lived  till  now,  so  burning 

Is  my  new  consciousness.     'T  is  said  that  men, 

In  the  last  agony  of  drowning,  are 

Thus  flooded  with  their  faded  motley  years 

In  one  fresh  rounded  instantaneous  picture,  — 

Life  gathering  to  a  point  its  scattered  beams, 

To  shine  its  earthly  last  with  warmest  flush, 

And,  robed  in  fiill  collected  brightness,  usher 

The  rising  soul  to  a  diviner  home. 

My  mind  's  aglow  with  happiest  light,  possessed 

As  by  illuminated  memories. 

There,  they  are  fading,  fading  fast,  like  to  th'  ebb 

From  blissful  clouds  of  golden  beams  at  evening. 

What  a  vast  waking  dream  I  so  strangely  true,— 

A  sudden  blossomy  limning  of  my  life 

By  beauty's  cleansing  brush.    'Tis  going, — gone. 

Come  back,  come  back,  and  wrap  rae  yet  awhile 

In  

[Hit  aim  it  gratptd  by  Arnold,  who  has  jutt  rttnttrtd.\ 

General  Arnold !  * 


62 


ARmtD  AND  ANDRt.  [Act  !I. 


Major  Antlre  1 


AHMOLD. 


ABDRrf. 


Are  we  alone  ? 

ABMOLD. 

We   are.       A  momentous  business  is  this  we 
have  to  do.     Are  you  fully  empowered. 

AMD  Kit. 

Fully.     We  stand  on  neutral  ground  ? 

AUIOLD 

Aye ;  no  fear. 

Enttr  Smith. 

■KITH. 

General,  you  know  the  boat  must  be  sent  up 
the  river  before  daybreak. 


For  that  there  's  time  enough.  The  boatmen 
can  sleep  an  hour  en  their  oars.  Let  us  (to 
AndrS)  withdraw  a  little  from  the  shore. 

[Arnold  and  Andre  wilhdrnw. 
•MiTH,  alone. 

Humph  I    He  treats  me  as  though  I  were  one 


[Act  II. 


this  we 


sent  up 

joatmen 
us    (to 

withdraw. 

lere  one 


ScKHB  III.]         ARNOLD  AND   ANDRE.  68 

of  his  corporals.  What  can  he  have  to  say  to  a 
Tory  that  an  honest  oar  might  not  hstc-n  to  ? 
'our  great  men  always  have  secrets.  Mystery 
is  the  garment  of  greatness :  it  helps  to  keep  it 
warm.  But  what  is  to  keep  mo  warm  ?  To 
play  sentinel  in  this  air  for  an  hour  would  give 
me  a  tertian,  if  I  had  not  one  already. 

Enttr  Armolu. 

ARJIOU). 

Smith,  we  can't  finish  our  business  here.  Send 
the  boat  round  to  the  creek,  and  follow  us  up 
to  the  house.  \jut 

■MITII. 

The  General's  voice  is  always  set  to  the  mili- 
tary pitch.  Orders  come  as  glib  from  his  tongue 
as  foul  speech  from  a  sailor.  Well,  I  'm  thankful 
to  be  let  off  so  easily.  Colquhoun  1  ( Calling,') 
Colquhoun !  These  two  boatmen  brothers  moke 
good  the  saying,  Coarse  feeders,  sound  sleepers. 
Colquhoun !  But  there  's  no  use  in  calling. 
Fellows  that  snore  like  the  croak  of  a  pond  of 
bull-frogs  praying  for  rain,  will  not  wake  before 


WW-^ 


ar 


04  ARNOLD  AND  ANDRl^.  [Act  II. 

dawn  to  anytliing  less  than  a  twenty-four  pounder. 
By  fist,  not  tongue,  are  they  to  bo  roused. 

[A>t(  Ml  tk*  $idt  o/i/ioaU  to  thai  at  lehich  Arnulit  tctnl  out. 


^ 


BCENB   IV. 

A  room  in  Smiih'$  houie,  early  morning, 

Abkold    and   Anuh^,   uattd    at    a    tablt   with   writing   mattriaU, 
AMDn£  in  hit  unifurm  coal, 

AMDH^  riling. 

They  were  the  last  orders  Sir  Henry  Clinton 
gave  me,  positive  ordoi-s,  to  take  no  papers. 

ARMOLD,  rtmaint  uattd. 

Then  ir  Henry  Clinton  cannot  take  West 
Point.  Have  you,  Major,  the  memory  of  Mithri- 
dates  ?  Can  you,  by  word  of  mouth,  deliver  to 
Sir  Henry  a  plan  of  the  whole  system  of  de- 
fences at  West  Point :  the  number  and  calibre 
of  guns  in  each  fort,  redoubt,  and  battery  ;  the 
construction,  size,  and  strength  of  each ;  the 
amount    and    vjuality    of    the    force    within    the 


4 

I  (ft 


,  f- 


J 


'Wr-WiS! 


miii^m^:'i^^mf3ifii^ismii^^i0»m» 


T 


Bo«».  IV.]        ARNOLD  AND  ANDRjS.  95 

works;  and  th«  distribution  of  tho  several  corps 
in   case    of  alarm?     All   these   detaUs,   full,  pre- 
cise, without  error,  Sir  Henry  must  have,  before 
he,    with    hope    of  success,    can    move   against  a 
pasition  so  fortified.     Without  this  key  of  knowl- 
edge,   the    post   remains    locked   against   him    in 
spite  of  us  both.     Even  with  it  there  would  be 
in   the  assault  some   loss  of  life.     What  matters 
it  whether  you  risk  yours  then  or  now?  it's  for 
the  same  end.     For  a  soldier,  methinks,  you  cal- 
culate adverse  chances  too  curiously. 

ANORlt. 

My  life  is  my  King's;   but  my  honor  is  my 
own. 


^i. 


ABaOLD. 

That   thought  comes   to  you   some   hours   too 
late. 

Atrimi,  atide. 

The  villain  is  right. 

ARHOIiD. 

Come,  Major,  be  calm.     Your  risk  is  less  than 
mine;   and  see  how   cool  I  am.     After  all,  the 


^^^^^^*?5^^^^ 


ee 


ARNOLD  AND  ANDRH. 


lAot  II. 


I  i" 


danger  is  not  much ;  and  for  clearing  what  there 
is,  trust  to  chance,  or  if  you  like  the  word  bet- 
ter, to  Providence. 

andk£,  aside. 
That  I  should  be  ciosely  coupled  with  such  a 
wretch !     Ever  since  I  met  him,  my  blood  creeps 
like  that  of  a  coward. 

AHNOLO. 

Pardon  me  for  reminding  yuu  of  the  greatness 
of  your  mission.  At  this  moment  you  are  the 
most  important  man  in  His  Majesty's  service. 
On  your  doing  well  what  you  were  sent  to  do, 
hangs  the  issue  of  this  war.  This  one  suooess 
makes  your  fortune. 

Give  me  the  papers. 

ARNOLD,  ruing. 

There  are  six  of  them,  (^gives  them,')  each  one 
labelled.  Those  papers  are  too  cheap  at  ten 
thousand  pounds. 

ANURB. 

That  is  the  limit  of  my  power. 


-^imm-t 


ir>i 


ach  one 
at    ten  '     H 


SoKNE  IV.]         ARNOLD  AND  ANDR^. 


m 


ARNOLD. 

Were    I    face    to    face    with    Sir    Henry,    he 
should    double    that    sum.     Say   to    him    that    I 
expect  it.     Now,  the  sooner   ho  moves   the   bet- 
ter,   and  the   day  must  be   at  once   determined. 
This  is  Friday,  tlie  22d.     In  three  days,  at  far- 
thest, Washington  will  have  returned  from  Hart- 
ford.    And    he    will    return    by   West    Point    to 
inspect    the   works:    I   know   him.     To    that   he 
will  give   a   day,   no   more;    it  needs  no   more; 
he  is  no  spendthrift  of  time.     I„  five  days  from' 
this    the   coast    will    be   dear.     Let    Sir   He.ny 
move    on    Tuesday   evening.     The    instant    news 
of  your  approach  reaches  the  garrison,  I  will  — 
in  so  far  as   I  can  without  causing   suspicion  — 
weaken-  the  main  points.     Under  pretence  of  en- 
countering  you,  I  will  send  out  corps,  so   sepa- 
rated that  they  cannot  at  once  aid  one  the  other 
They  will   be  stationed   in   the  gorges  westward. 
Keep  your  main  body  closer  to  the  river.     This 
I  Ve  already  told  you  :  I  repeat  it ;  it  is  important. 

[A  cannon  u  hcai-d.] 


,^-:..;r8h;. 


'JH 


68  ARNOLD   AND  ANDRH.  [Act  II 

akhkA,  alarmed. 

What 's  that  ?  (^Another  shot.')   We  are  betrayed. 
Enter  Smith.  -*• 

ARNOLD. 

Smith,  what  is  that  firing? 


At  the  "Vulture,"  from  the  shore. 

But  can  they  reach  her?  (^Qoing  to  the  mn- 
cfow;  cannon-shots  continue.')  Ha!  that  they  can. 
She  looks  as  though  she  were  on  fire.  There, 
she  is  moving. 

SMITH,  a$ide  to  Arvold,  uting  Andrd'i  uniform. 

What  1  is  he  a  British  officer  ? 

ABKOLD. 

Oh,  no!  A  fop  of  a  fellow,  a  New  York 
cockney,  who  borrowed  a  uniform  to  look  big  in. 

V  • 

SMITR. 

He  '11  feel  small  enough  if  he  is  caught  in  it. 

/ 

'  AVDHii.  ' 

Why,  the  "Vulture"  is  dropping  down  the 
river!    I  shall  not  be  able  to  get  back  to  her. 


[AotU 


etrayed. 


the  win- 

hey  can. 

There, 


York 
big  in. 

t  in  it. 

)wn    the 
her. 


ia 


m 


SowBlV.]         ARNOLD  AND  ANDRH. 


69 


ARMOLD. 


She  '11  not  have  to  go  far  to  get  out  of 
reach  of  those  guns.  It  *8  only  Colonel  Living- 
ston keeping  his  hand  in. 


SMITH. 


And   even   if  the   sloop   had   not  budged,  the 
boatmen  will  not  row  out  to  her  again. 

andr£. 
But  I  must  be  put  on  board.     I  demand  that. 
General  Arnold,  I   have   a  right   to  demand  so 
much. 


SMITH. 


Young  gentleman,  if  you  are  a  good  swimmer, 
and  a  good  diver  to  boot,  to  dodge  the  bullets 
that  might  happen  to  be  sent  after  you,  you 
may  br   rd  the  sloop. 

[Arnold  takes  Smilh     >  one  tide.] 

ANDRE. 

To  '  e  at  the  mercy  of  these  two !  This  is  no 
busineb  for  a  gentleman.  I  've  been  over-zealous. 
So  much  br  playing  spy.  Spy  I  Does  a  spy  wear 
this  coat  ?     No,  no !  it 's  not  so  bad  as  that. 


70 


ARNOLD  AND  ANDR^. 


[Act  n. 


{Antold  and  Smith  re<«r«.] 

ABNOLn. 

Mr.  Anderson,  my  friend  Smith  promises  to 
get  you  on  board,  if  he  can.  If  not,  he  will 
escort  you  safely  beyond  our  outposts.  I  '11  give 
you  a  passport  that  will  be  full  protection. 

I  must  be  content. 

AHMOLD,  to  Andre. 

He  's  bound  to  me.  He  "11  do  the  best  he  can. 
The  hazard  's  small.  The  passport  will  carry  you 
through  to  your  own  lines.  People  are  passing 
to  and  fro  every  day.  Those  papers,  — in  case  of 
accident,  destroy  them;  then  we  are  both  safe. 
They  are  the  only  evidence  against  us.  Not  to 
a  soul  on  our  side  is  the  object  of  this  meeting 
known.  For  greater  secrecy,  hide  them  in  your 
boots.  — Mr.  Smith,  I  must  return  up  the  river. 
In  your  charge  I  leave  Mr.  Anderson.  —  Give 
my  best  regards  to  Colonel  Robinson,  Mr.  An- 
derson. Tell  him  the  affair  shall  be  settled  to 
suit   him.     Farewell.     (^Coming  back.)     Mr.  An- 


^<*V4^ 


[Act  II. 


romises    t<i 
t,   he    will 
I  'II  give 
ion. 


St  he  can. 
carry  you 
■e  passing 
in  case  of 
both  safe. 
.  Not  to 
s  meeting 
1  in  your 
the  river. 
1.  —  Give 
Mr.  An- 
settled  to 
Mr.  An- 


ScN.  IV.]         ARNOLD  AND  ANDR^.  ^j 

derson,  you  had  better  change  that  borrowed  red 
coat  for  a  plain  one. 

A«OH,£,  <^e,  looking  Jir»t  nfUr  A,-noU,  Aen  ajler  SmUk. 

Now  that  they're  gone,  I  draw  a  better  breath. 
Their  presence  stifled  me.     I  know  not  why, 
But  while  they  were  beside  me,  it  did  seem' 
As    they   were    plotters    'gainst    my    life.     Since 

Arnold 
Grasped  in  the  dark  upon  the  shore  my  arm, 
X  have  not  been  myself.     That  touch  was  ven- 

omed : 

It  shrivelled  up  my  nerves.     I  am  unmanned ; 
I  have  the  conscience  of  a  quaking  culprit; 
My  fancies  are  as  pale  as  a  sick  mother's.  ' 
PohiPoh!     A  soldier  must  not  let  imagination 
Unheart  him.    I  have  work  to  do,  great  work. 
He's  right:  it  can't  be  done  without  these  war- 
rants. 

i^'"^^'0"taepaper.,a«d,eatshm.el/at  the  table.] 

[The  curtain  rfcqji.] 


fmmmimimmmmmimmmamm''V 


w  ^  .m- 


72 


ARNOLD  AND  ANDRE.  [Act  Ul. 


ACT  III. 

BCENB  I. 

Half  a  mile  above  Tarn/town,  by  the  road-gide  amon§ 
trees,  about  ten  o'clock  in  the  morning  of  September 
23d. 

I'AULDiNO,  Williams,  and  Van  Waht,  lying  on  the  ground. 

PAULDINQ. 

Did  you  say,  Isaac,  that  the  cow-boys  have 
been  seen  this  week  above  Pine  Bridge  ? 

VAN   WAKT. 

Aye,  and  felt  too ;  for  they  carried  off  a  cow 
from  a  Dutch  woman  three  miles  beyond  the 
bridge. 

WILLIAMS. 

"  The  saucy  varlets.  Why,  that 's  four  or  five 
miles  higher  up  than  North  Castle,  Colonel  Jam- 
ieson's  station.     Where  was  he  with  his  dragoons  ? 

,  FAULDINO. 

Fast  asleep.     The  Colonel  is  too  slow  for  the 


ii  ! 


m 


[AotUL 


d'side  amon^ 
of  September 

t  ikt  ground. 

v-boys   have 
ge? 

d  off  a  cow 
beyond    the 


four  or  five 
)olonel  Jam* 
is  dragoons  ? 

slow  for  the 


M 


8CKJ.K  I.]  ARNOLD  AND  ANDJi£.  73 

work   that's   wanted   in   these  parts.     I  warrant 

you,  if  the   marauding  rascals  come   so  near  to 

Captain  Boyd,  they  '11  catch  a  Tartar  instead  of 
a  cow. 

WILLIAMS. 

The  skinners,  too,  have  been  busy  above 
White   Plains. 

PACLDINQ. 

The  pirates !  They  are  worse  than  the  cow- 
boys. They  belong  to  neither  side,  and  pillage 
both.  David,  what's  o'clock,  think  you?  past 
nine  ? 

WILLIAMS. 

Nearer  to  ten  than  nine,  I  should  say,  by  the 
son. 

PAULDINO. 

This  lying  down  in  the  daytime  is  hard  both 
for  bones  and  brains. 

WILLIAMS. 

It 's  the  worst  work  I  ever  tried ;  but  should 
a  brace  of  cattle  come  along  with  their  nosea  to 
the  south,  it  will  pay. 


i.l!l 


Mi 


"  \ 


UJ>  JMunmujAm  ■!  iimiiii..ii  1 1  III  I.  Hum  II 


74 


ARNOLD  AND  ANDRlS.  lAcx  III. 


fAULDINO. 

That's   a  wise    law,  that   gives   cattle   for   the 
enemy    to    the    captors.      But    this    waiting    on 
r^  chance    is    sorry    work    after    all    for    two-fisted 

men. 

VAH  WABT. 

There  comes  somebody  on  horseback,  that  looks 
like  a  gentleman.  He  has  boots  on.  If  you  don't 
know  him,  Mr.  Paulding,  you  had  better  make 
him  stop. 

Enter  Major  AjidrA  on  hortback. 

PAULDING,  who  ha$  rittn,  praenti  hit  Jirebck. 

Stand.     Where  are  you  going? 

ANDRi. 

I  hope,  my  friends,  you  are  of  our  party. 

FAULDIMO. 

Which  party? 
The  lower  party. 

I  FAUUIIMO. 

'"     That's  ours. 


ni. 


.-  .'.i,*'!-^  Ah.Wi.-—'t^fT:~,\-:T\-p-h'-Xrsr::t^  r 


[Act  III. 


SotuB  I.]  Ar:NOLD  AND  ANDRH. 


U 


for  the 
ting  on 
vo-fisted 


lat  looks 
ou  don't 
2r  make 


rty. 


' 


AMURil. 

Then  we  are  friends.     I  am  a   British   officer 
out    on   particular   business.      Let    me    pass,   and 
take  this.     (^Offering  his  watch.) 
PAULUitro. 

Keep  your  watch,  sir ;  you  must  dismount. 

ANUn£. 

Why,  what  good  will  it  do  you  to  stop  me. 
It  may  do  you  harm ;  for,  see  here,  I  have  a 
pass  from  General  Arnold.  ( Gives  the  passport  to 
Paulding^  and  then  dismounts.)  If  you  detain 
me,  you  may  get  yourselves  into  trouble.  I  'm 
on  my  way  to  Dobbs's  Ferry,  on  the  General's 
business. 

FAULDINO. 

You  seem  to  be  a  gentleman,  sir ;  and  we 
mean  you  no  harm.  But  there  are  bad  people 
about,  and  in  these  times  it 's  hard  to  tell  friend 
from  foe.     You  must  submit  to  be  searched. 

WILLIAMS. 

Step  this  way,  sir,  and   take  off  your  clothes. 


•  ■;  "^'^^rrfir^--  •  --r-ief^^iiifiWyZ 


wm 


70  ARNOLD  AND  ANDH£.  [Kvt  Ml. 

If  you  are   on   an   honest  errand,  no  harm  will 
couje  to  you. 

[  WUImnu  and  Van  Warl  vilkdraw  teilk  Andr4  JuM  outiUle  Ik* 
$tagt.] 

FAUi.niico. 
A  British  officer,  in  disguise,  with  a  passport 
from  General  Arnold.  That 's  odd.  A  nd  how 
anxious  he  sc  ■.  When  I  told  him  to  dismount, 
he  turned  pule.  There  's  something  crooked, 
which  we  may  bo  the  means  of  straightening. 
(^lie'cnter  Van   Wart.y     Do  you  find  any  pai)er8  ? 

VAM   WART 

Nothing ;  and  wo  've  searched  him  thoroughly. 

PAULUino,  guing  to  the  tidt.  * 

Williams,  look  into  his  boots. 

WILUAMS. 

There  's  nothing  in  this  one.  (^Shmoing  it,  and 
turning  it  upside  down.")  —  What 's  that  in  your 
stocking?  Off  with  it.  —  Here  are  p.'iners. 
Paulding,    you  can  read. 

[Gives  Pauldiay  the  pnptre.'] 


8Bi2— .V 


8c«»i!  I.]  ARNOLD  AND  ANDR£. 


77 


PAULDIMO. 

What 's  this  ?  Artillery  orders  at  West  Point. 
And  hero  's  one  nuirked,  "  Estimate  of  tho 
force  at  West  Point  and  its  dei)cndencies." 
WiUiaras,  search  the  other  foot.  If  ho  is  not  a 
spy,  I  don't  know  how  to  read. 

WILLIAMS. 

Here  are  three  more. 

[Givtt  them  to  Paulding.] 

PAULUINO,  rending. 

"Report  of  a  Council  of  War  on  the  Cnm- 
l)aign."  "Description  of  the  works  at  West 
Point."  There's  treason,  somewhere,  —  nothing' 
less.  Some  black  plot.  What  a  providence  that 
we  were  at  thia  very  spot  at  this  very  hour  I 
lyeop  your  eye  on  him,  Isaac.  He's  a  prize. 
We  must  take  him  right  off'  to  North'  Castle. 
That's  the  nearest  station. 

[Andtt,  wio  ha$  rt-drttttd,  advancu.    PaukUng  aitd  the  othtr 
two  UM  low  apnr'..] 

A«Diii,  amdt. 

Sooner  or  later  a  curse  doth  ever  follow  false- 


I&  '  * 


78  AllSOLD  AND  ANDIlJl.  [Act  III. 

hood.  IIdvv  (luick  it  falls  on  me.  Till  now  my 
life  wu»  true.  Tliia  is  my  first  lie,  and  I  am 
caught  in  it,  —  caught  acting  a  monstrous  false- 
hood. Oh,  what  a  fool  I  'vo  been  1  They 
should  have  chosen  some  sharper,  harder  instru- 
ment for  such  a  work.  —  I  blame  no  one  but 
myself.  —  What  will  be  my  fate?  —  I  dare  not 
think  of  it. 

[Re$U  hit  head  against  a  tree.] 


rAULniNO. 


I  tell  you,  this  is  a  great  day's  work.    Few  of 
the  generals  have  done  a  better. 


WILUAM8. 


Think  you  so  ? 

FAUIXUMO. 

Aye.     Had  that  man   got  to  New  York  with 
those  papers,  in  a  week  the  English  would  have 

« 

had    West    Point.     And   then,   good  bye    to   our 


cause. 


VAN   WART. 


Indeed ! 


m 


"'*«!? 


[AOT  III. 

now  my 
id   I   nm 

IU8     t'ulst'- 

Tlicy 
r  instru- 
ono  but 
ilaro   not 


Few  of 


ork  with 
uld  have 

B    to   our 


tfOUK  1  ] 


AHNOLD  AND  ANDtt^. 


1$ 


I'AULOIMO. 

Mark  tne :  when  this  republic  shall  have  grown 
great,  —  which  it  will  do  taster  than  over  yet  a 
nation  on  the  earth,  —  and  shall  be  aa  strong  as 
old  England  herself 


WILLIAMS. 


As  Strong  as  England  I 

I'AULDtNO. 

Aye,  it  will  take  but  two  or  three  genera- 
tions for  that;  —  for  this  day's  doings,  tens  of 
millions  will  know  the  names  of  us  three,  and 
speak  them  with  thanks,  and  wiil  hand  them 
down  to  be  blessed  by  their  childrcMV,  children,  to 
the  twentieth  generation  ;  and  on  this  very  spot 
where  wo  stand  will  gather  a  great  crowd, — 
which  our  children  may  live  to  see,  —  and  raise 
a  monument  to  our  memory. 

VAN  WABT. 

What !   a  monument ! 

PAVLDIMO. 

Aye.  And  thereon,  in  large,  deep  letters,  your 
'name,  Isaac,  will  be  cut.     Now  to  our  prisoner. 


I 


ii'MM 


'■■0^'' 


« !i, I)  III  mi,  I II  nil  11 


f 


■ 


mW^ 


80  ARNOLD   AND  ANDRli.  [Act  UI. 

See  how  he  's  troubled.     I  should  n't  wonder  if 
he  turns  out  to  be  a  British  general, 

wiLLtAMs,  to  Andri. 

Now,  what  will  you  give  us  to  let  you  go? 
Anything  you  name. 

WILLIAMS. 

Will  you  give  your  horse,  saddle,  bridle,  watch,, 
and  one  hundred  guineas  ? 

ANDBtf. 

And  a  hundred  apiece  to  each  of  yoa  besides, 
and  as  much  more  in  dry  goods,  anu  have  them 
delivered  at  this  very  spot,  or  anywhere  that,  you 
shall  name. 

PAULDISO. 

Not  for  ten  thousand  guineas  would  we  let  you 
go.  Here  is  some  dark  plot  against  "the  American 
cause,  and  you,  Mr.  Anderson,  as  your  passport 
calls  you,  are  an  agent  in  it.  Had  you  this  pass- 
port directly  from  General  Arnold's  hand  1 


i'> 

ANDRB. 

^ 

Ask  me  no  questions. 

f 
t 

1! 

\ 

■  iiii>iiWwiiitoi»iiiiMiWiB  wijii  ■rMrtiiiiiiHii^  iiii^ife-'-'^ 


[Act  m. 
wonder  if 


ou  go 


lie,  watch,, 


J 

a  besides, 
ave  them 

that  you 

'e  let  you 
American 

#  •. . 

passport 
this  paas- 

■ 

d? 

\ 

ScKNE  II.]  ARNOLD   AND  ANDREI.  gl 

PAULDINO. 

When  did  you  see  'General  Arnold  ? 

Bring   me    to   one   of  your   commanders.     To 
him  I  will  reveal  all. 


PAULDING. 

Forward,  then,  to  North  Castle. 


[£xeunl. 


SCENB  n. 
Arnold's  Head-quarters,  opposite  West  Point,  September 
2oth.     Breakfast-table  set  for  ten  or  eleven  persons, 
*  Ahkold,  Mrs.  Arkold,  Major  Varick.  Arnold's  aide-de-camp. 

■^v^      /  MBS.  AHKOLD. 

'  Husband,   he   sent   direct    word    that  with   his 
suite  he  would  be  here  to  breakfast? 

ARNOLD. 

Yes ;  and  the  Commander-in-Chief  is  an  early 

riser.     You  '11  hear  their  tramp  presently.  Had 

he  named   the  hour,  we  should   be  sure  of  him: 

he  is  the  most  punctual  man  in  his  camp.  Ah  I 


maSL-. 


82  ARNOLD  AND  ANDRE.  [Act  III. 

here  he  is.  (^Enter  Colonel  Samilton  and  Major 
McHenry.')  Welcome,  gendemen.  Where 's  the 
General  ?  "^ 

HAMILTON. 

He  turned  off  towards  the  river,  to  inspect  the 
works  before  dismou>.^ing.  He  sends  us  to  re- 
quest tht>-  you  will  not  wait  breakfast  for  him. 

,  ARNjL.t'i. 

Mrs.  Arnold,  this  is  Colonel  Alexander  Hamil- 
ton, aide-de-camp  to  vreneral  Washington  ;  Major 
McHenry,  aide-de-camp  to  the  Marquis  Lafayette. 
The  orders  of  the  Commandei-in-Chief,  whatever 
they  may  }  ?,  must  be  obeyed ;  so,  wo  will  go 
to  breakfast.  Come,  gentlemen.  (^All  sit  at  the 
tahle.')  This  ride  to  Hartford  has  been  a  pleas- 
ant holiday  to  you.  How  did  you  like  our 
French  allies? 

HAMILTON. 

We  liked  them  much.  But  what  we  like 
even  better  than  them  is  the  effect  the  inter- 
view with  Count  Rochambeau  has  had  on  Gen- 
eral Washington.    We  all  ol  serve  that  he  is  less 


J. 


"i 


i' 


'  ^^^-^mMi^^^mmk. . 


«fKI 


ScKNB  U.]  ARNOLD  AND  ANDR£.  ||j 

silent  and  more  cheerful  since  we  left  Hartford 
than  o-.  the  journey  thither. 

ABNOLD. 

What    is    the    amount    of   the    land-force    the 
Count  has  brought  over? 

McHEMRY. 

Between  six  and  seven  thousand  choice  troops. 


Any  artillery? 


ARNOLD. 


XcHKNKY. 


A  larger  train  than  belongs  to  such  a  force ; 
both  heavy  and  light  guns. 

[iSnter  an  Attendant,  tiAo  givu  Arnold  a  letter,  and  retires.i 
ARNOLD,  tefio  with  difflcvUy  conceals  his  emotion  while  rending  the  letter. 

I  am  called,  gentlemen,  across  the  river  to 
West  Point.  Say  to  General  Washington  that  I 
have  been  suddenly  summoned  on  business.    [Exit. 

HAMILTON. 

The  General,  I  fear,  has  had  bad  news.  That 
letter  seemed  to  disturb  him. 


MRS.  ARNOLD. 


I  thought  so  too. 


^Ei 


J' 


■fgl!tt|'#^»ggtg'<i,it,fe!»»M)<i!!»iWa«WW<^ 


mSSMjim 


84  ARNOLD  AND  ANDIUS.  [Act  UL 

[Enter  an  AUendant  and  ichuiper$  to  Mrs.  AmoU,  who  htuiily 
quilt  the  room,  followed  by  the  Attendant.} 

HAMILTON. 

Our  host  and  hostess  being  both  called  away, 
let  us,  gentlemen,  seek  fie  party  on  horseback. 

VAKtOK. 

With  all  my  heart.     It  is  some  time  suice  I 
saw  the  Commander-in-Chief.  [Exeunt. 


SCENE  m. 

Mrs.  Arnold's  chamber;  a  cradle  near  the  bed. 

Abkoli),  then  Mrt.  Aiuioli>. 

MRS.   AKKOLD. 

What  is  it  ?    Thou  'rt  pale  I 

ARHOLD. 

We   must  part  on   the  instant,  —  perhaps  for- 
ever. 

HRS.  ARNOLD. 

Part !     Oh,  Heaven  !  what  mean'st  thou  ? 


ii'lH'l 


•"i!'i'M!M4!:f".i!i»aii'aaM^' 


»» ^■«it)i«.-r ,», «.  _,^ 


1^=    i 


— iftHiL 


■mip 


immm»-_ 


ScKSK  III.]         ARNOLD  AND  ANDR£. 


85 


ARNOLD. 

I  've  played  a  bold  game  and  lost.  My  life  is 
forfeit. 

UBS.  ARNOLD. 

Thy  life  I 

ARNOLD. 

Unless  I  reach  the  enemy's  lines,  I'm  lost. 

MRS.  ARNOLD. 

The  enemy!  Oh,  my  fears  1  Thou  art  lost 
indeed.  Why  didst  thou  not  confide  in  me, 
thy  wife?  Thou  didst  repulse  me.  I  never 
had  betrayed  thee,  —  I  might  have  saved  thee. 
And  my  boy  I  (^Throws  herself  on  her  kn,  -8  he- 
fore  the  cradle.')     Oh,  my  poor  child  I 

ARNOLD. 

I  must  be  gone. 

MBS.  ARNOLD. 

Tell  me  all.     I  yet  may  save  thee. 

ARNOLD. 

Too  late,  too  late.     Andre's  taken. 

MRS.  ARNOLD. 

Andrdl 


w^^^%i^^!i#wiiimmiij>^ug^\>&*m.jMi(iM'>»:mi*m>* 


«i 


86 


ARNOLD  AND  ANDR£. 


[Act  IIL 


ARNOLD. 


FareweU !    Farewell !     My  very  life-blood  ebbs 
with  every  minute  lost. 

UH8.  ARNOLD. 

I  '11  go  with  thee.     And  our  boy.     Wilt  thou 
desert  us  ? 

AB^.'OLD. 

Wilt  thou  see  me  die? 

Ml.S.    ARNOLD. 

Fly  I  fly  I     Away  I  away  I 

[Amotd  kiuet  the  child  and  then  embraca  her.    She  suxxm$  in 
his  arnu.] 

ARNOLD. 

Great  Heaven  I  she  faints.  And  I  must  leave 
her  thus  I  (Lai/g  her  on  the  bed.)  Wife  I  Wife  I 
Oh,  wretch  that  I  am  I  rot, 

IHtuhei  out. 


ScKSE  IV.]        ARNOLD  AND  ANDR£. 


87 


lOll 


.  '■*. 


80ENB  IV 

Head-quarters  of  General  Wathington,  at  Tappan,  Sep- 
tember 30tA.     Street  in  the  village. 

Enter  Cdmel  Hamiitos,  aide-de-camp  to   Washington,  mui  Major 
Varick,  aid  to  Arnold. 


HAMILTON. 


He  dies  to-morrow. 


V  <t  HICK. 


Has   the   Commander-in-Chief  signed  the   sen- 
tence ? 

HAMILTON. 

Not  yet.  He  will  sign  it  to-day.  'T  is  the 
hardest  duty  he  ever  had  to  do. 

VARICK. 

What  a  lato  for  a  young,  generous  gentleman  I 

HAMILTON. 

As  bitfrtr  (0  him,  poor  fellow,  as  his  capture 
was  to  us  providentially  mercilUl.  A  full,  fair 
trial  he  has  had  by  a  jury,  than  which  one 
mort'   enlightened   and    honorable    never   gave   a 


i.)Hi»ijii)ii  mi|iii>w.tiniii     ,ii^>fi,;fif)i!m0fri^mMi„  iM»ii«iiHi»ij)»nti, iip»rlt|BgjgjMa# ^ 


!  I 


88  ARNOLD  AND  ANDRlS.  [Aox  UL 

verdict.  Six  Major-Generals,  —  Greene,  Presi- 
dent, and  witli  hinij  Stirling,  St.  Clair,  Lafay- 
ette, Howe,  Steuben ;  and  eight  Brigadiers,  — 
Parsons,  Clinton,  Knox,  Glovor,  Patterson,  Hand, 
Huntington,  Stark.  To  justice  never  was  given 
by  a  tribunal  a  stronger  bond  than  that  sealed 
by  the  character  of  these  fourteen  officers. 

VAIIIGK. 

Was  there  no  dissentient  voice  ? 

HAMILTOK. 

Finally,  none.  Two  or  three  members  of  the 
board,  pn  npted  by  humanity,  started  some  tech- 
nical objections,  but  could  not  sustain  them. 
Andr^  bears  his  doom  like  a  soldier,  and,  by  his 
gentleness  and  dignity,  wins  all  who  approach 
him. 

YAniCK. 

In  battle  how  light  a  thing  it  is  fo  give  or 
take  death.  But  in  calm  blood,  by  deliberate 
judgment  to  cut  off  the  life  of  a  fellow-being,  — 
the  brain  trembles  over  its  work.  The  thought 
of  Andr^  must  light  a  hell  in  Arnold's  breast. 


1 


I 


/ 


«M«IMlMrt«plp««|»MMMMi 


■mimtiifHiiiiijfriiii*! 


[Act  UL 
Preai- 


ilMMi 


BoKNK  IV.j         ARNOLD  AND  ANDRIS.  ^ 

HAMILTON. 

In  his  breast  there  is  not  glow  enough  to 
kindle  the  fires  of  conscience.  His  nature  is 
ruthless  and  shameless.  Think  of  his  writing  a 
defiant,  threatening  letter  to  the  Commander-in- 
Chief. 

EnUr  Sergeant  Brioos,  accompanied  by  another  tergeant. 
BRiooa. 

Can  you  tell  me,  Colonel  Hamilton,  has  Gen- 
eral Washington  signed  the  sentence? 

HAMILTOM 

Not  yet. 

DRIOOI. 

But  he  will  sign  it? 

HAMILTON. 

'Tis  said  he  will. 


DRIGGB. 


I  knew  he  would. 


HAMILTON. 

How  did  you  know  it? 


Bniooa. 


Because  he  ought  to  sign  it;  and  he  never  yet 


^jfear-saiBi^BiiMiSg^i^^aiK;,,. 


^ 


90 


ARNOLD  AND  ANDRjS. 


[Act  m. 

tailed,  and  never  will   fuil,  to  do  what  he  ought 
to  do. 


HAMILTOn. 


Some  think  he  ought  not  to  sign  it. 

BKIUUH. 

Tories  and  traitors  and  love-sick  girls. 

II.VMII.TOM. 

Sergeant,  you  seem  much  moved. 


BKI008. 


Moved  1  I  have  n't  slept  for  a  week  for  dream- 
ing. The  instant  I  close  my  eyes,  I  see  the 
cursed  red-coats  pouring  up  the  heights,  —  our 
men  scattered  and  flying,  shot  down  like  rab- 
bits,—  officers  bewildered,  —  all  Hsmayed,  all  be- 
trayed. They  've  scaled  Fort  Putiiam  !  Tliere  ! 
the  royal  ensign  waves  alwve  it  I  And  that 
wakes  me ;  and  I  crv  for  joy  to  find  I  've 
been  dreaming.  I  shall  do  nothing  but  dream 
o'  nights  while  Andre  lives.  But  there 's  one 
condition  on  which  I  'd  spare  his  life. 


HAMILTON. 


What's  that? 


.i 


ml 


^^ 


"yMi  «jg).i'iir.ir;  i^jij:'j!>'ii»i"iuii'i — <r 


[Act  in. 
he   ought 


.3. 


for  dream- 
I  see  the 
;hts,  —  our 
like  rab- 
ed,  all  be- 
!  There ! 
And  that 
find  I  've 
but  dream 
lere  's   one 


ScKMK  IV.]         ARNOLD  AND  ANDHJS. 


91 


■HIOOI. 


Their  giving  us  Arnold  in  his  place.  '  'h,  for 
that,  I  'd  hug  Andre  with  my  one  arm.  I  have 
but  the  one ;  but  louk  you,  Cohmel,  I  '11  lay  it  on 
a  bl(x:k,  and  you  may  hew  it  off  inch  by  inch  to 
the  shoulder,  if  thereby  we  can  clutch  that  — 
what  shall  I  say  —  traitor!  There  have  been 
traitors  before  ;  but  Arnold  is  something  diaboli- 
cally new. 


VARICK. 


Now   that  his  villany  is  baffled,  what  havo  we 
to  gain  by  taking  the  life  of  poor  Andre  ? 


BRioag. 


Poor  Andrd,  —  what  to  gain  ?  I  knew  a  man, 
a  brave  one.  1  saw  him  fight  at  Princeton,  —  a 
young,  strong  man  and  true.  He  left  a  wife  and 
babe  at  homo  in  Monmouth.  The  day  before 
yesterday  came  a  letter  telling  him  his  wife  was 
ill  unto  death.  No  mothsr,  no  sister,  no  brother, 
near  her.  The  poor  man  was  beside  himself  with 
grief.  In  that  state  he  deserted.  He  was  taken ; 
and  yesterday,  within  twelve  hours  of  his  capture, 


»^''5..--  >'-»5«!rS:&^#iia(|si!ftfertgis^i!ito!^^ 


;giiiiiiniiiiMij|'iipiwB«Biiym>»iiii|iiijW 


!.<!lilUIMil..in'tii,UU» 


t 


^  ARNOLD   AND  ANPR]S.  [Act  III. 

he  waa  shot ;  and  it  was  right  that  he  was,  —  it 
was  right.  And  a  British  officer,  by  the  British 
Commander-in-Chief  sont  with  most  nialifrnant 
purpose,  comes  witliin  our  lines  under  a  false 
name,  under  a  false  character,  in  disguise,  at 
niidiiight,  to  plot  with  the  worst  enemy  our  cause 
could  have,  —  to  plot  the  ruin  of  that  cause  by 
one  great  pei-fidious  blow,  —  goes  away  in  the 
dark,  hiding  in  his  boots  the  plans  and  papers  to 
make  that  blow  unfailing ;  this  man,  who  crme 
ui)on  us  stealthily,  like  a  thief  in  t\\Q  night,  and 
went  out  hke  a  thief  in  the  night,  carrying  with 
him  a  key  to  our  very  citadel  of  safety,  —  a  man, 
who,  by  meuns  gotten  through  his  own  double, 
treble  falsehood  and  the  deep  treason  of  his  black 
accomplice,  would,  within  a  week,  have  compassed 
the  stronghold  of  our  territory,  shattered  our  army, 
struck  despair  to  the  whole  country's  heart,  per- 
haps, aye,  quite  possibly,  made  captive  Washing- 
ton himself,  —  this  man, — this  man  is  poor  Andre  I 
Hanging  's  too  good  for  him. 

\_Eat,  folloieetl  by  hi$  companion,  who  makts  an  mergeUc  gu- 
ture  of  $ymppthy  and  approval. 


mi 


8cK»R  v.]  ARNOLD   AND  ANDHH. 


VARICK. 


Colonel,  there 's  marrow  in  that  man's  bones. 

HAMILTON. 

Aye,  Major;   that '3  the  stuff  that  carried  us 
into  this  war,  and  will  carry  us  through  it. 

{EttuiU, 


J 


i 


i 


SCKNE  V. 

A  HalL 

At  the  farther  end  General  \VA8fiiNaToi»,  »eated  at  a  tMe,'tciih  his 
face  to  the  audience,  taket  a  pen.  The  fourteen  General*  icho 
formed  the  Board  of  Imjuiry  thnl  gat  on  Andri  are  itanding  about 
the  table  on  his  right  and  left,  'ooking  at  him  sign  Oie  sentence, 
jc/iJc*  h',  does.  He  then  rises,  gives  the  paper  tu  General  Gkekme, 
Presides  i  of  the  Board,  bows  to  the  Generals  and  retires,  thty  all 
bowing  deferenliaUy. 

UREENE. 

His  heaving  breast  made  the  weak  pen  to  tremble, 
Until  he  ruled  it  with  his  mighty  will. 

LAFAVFTTE. 

Tears  are  rare  visitors  to  those  calm  eyes ; 


m 


94  ARNOLD   AMD  ANDIl^.  f  act  III. 

And  when  they  come,  tliey  bring  a  solemn  mes- 


sage 


From  the  great  heart  tliat  could  no  longer  quench 
them. 

KNOX. 

But  once  before  have  I  beheld  him  thus. 

STBUBKN. 

And  yet,  at  last,  in  what  a  clear  firm  hand 
He  wrote  the  one  irrevocable  word, 
His  loved  and  dreaded  name. 

OREKKR. 

The  steady  hand 
Belongs  to  war,  to  peace  the  moistened  eye. 
War  dislocates  the  man,  his  sterner  half 
Ruling  the  gentler  with  the  soldier's  law, 
Which  is  sharp  as  his  sword,  quick  as  his  flint 

KMOX. 

The  law  of  war  is  now  our  law  of  life. 

Its  rough  necessities  so  sway  the  hour 

That  in  a  case  like  this  mercy  were  suicide.         -^ 

LAFAYETTE. 

As  if  by  miracle  we  have  escaped 


i?^*fr£i^'^j 


FACT  IIL 

jlemn  mea- 
ger quench 

1U8. 

hand 


\ 


ady  hand 
d  eye. 
tlf 
ivv, 
his  flhit. 


uicide. 


ScbnbV.]         ARNOLD  AND  ANDR^.  05 

The  ruin  of  the  noblest,  grandest  cause 
That  e'er  by  power  of  truth  and  manliness 
Was  launched  upon  the  storms  of  rageful  war. 

OKEEME. 

By  providential  blessing  Ave  've  escaped ; 
But  while  from  danger's  loosened  grip  our  hearts 
Still  shudder,  round  beneath  us  baffled  Death 
From  rock   to  rock,  in   sight,  springs  black  and 

bellowing, 
Where  the  loud  foam  of  open  enmity 
Curls  o'er  the  silent  reefs  of  treason  deep ; 
So  that,  to  ward  the  costliest  wreck  e'er  strewn 
Upon  the  shores  of  time,  we  still  must  bind 
In  one  great  cable  all  our  life's  best  throads. 
And  on  our  haufijhty  foe  hurl  death  for  death. 


THE    END. 


